-------------
Part Twelve
-------------

<Where am I?>

Scully woke up to unfamiliar surroundings; above her the grey fabric
of a tent was radiating heat. She turned her head and saw an arm
hanging limply off the side of a nearby camp bed.

<Mulder.>

Gradually snapshots clicked into place and her mental slideshow began.
Sahara, Fowley, Bob, the plane trip, meeting with Mulder and Ali, the
cornfields, the bunker, the stairs, the dark lake, Mulder
making love to... wait - some slides were missing. She racked her
brain to find them, but in vain. For all she knew she'd been beamed up
from the cave into that tent - where she'd seduced Mr Spook.

A slow smile crept over her lips before turning into a yawn. She
rubbed her eyes and sat up on the bed.

The knowledge that once more some of her memories had been erased
should have disturbed her, but strangely enough it didn't. She felt
good - great in fact - better than she'd felt in years. The fatigue,
which had been weighing her down recently, was nowhere to be found;
her soul felt lighter than a feather.

She looked at her slumbering partner. He was sleeping on his stomach,
naked, his sleeping bag bunched up around his feet. A thin sheen of
sweat gave his back a golden glow under the morning light oozing
through the tent's fabric. She let her eyes glide over the planes of
his back, the xylophone patterns made by his ribs, the tight and
rounded shape of his ass, his long runner's legs, his oversized feet.

And then it hit her.

She should have felt something...

A wide spectrum of emotions usually fought for supremacy inside her
every time she looked at him; lately the reigning champion had been
anger, while guilt and frustration fought for the silver medal.

She felt none of these.

She tried other memories, disturbing ones, the ones she couldn't call
up without having the wind knocked out of her with grief.

Melissa...nothing.

Penny Northern...nothing.

Emily...nothing.

She remembered the emotions she had experienced then perfectly well,
but it was with the same kind of detachment one feels when flipping
through the pages of a long-lost teenage diary.

<Shock - I must be in shock...>

She checked for bumps or bruises on her skull. A blow to the head
could explain the amnesia and her numb emotional state - a
concussion - except that she felt strong and fully conscious, neither
fuzzy nor nauseous.

She stood up, and stretched with delight, feeling all her muscles
respond smoothly. If it weren't for the sand sticking to her ass and a
lingering soreness in her inner thighs, she would have felt like Eve
newly created.

<More like Eve newly laid...>

It was more than feeling mended: she felt brand new.

She took the few steps separating her from Mulder's bed and looked
down at him once more. No doubts, regrets or guilt assailed her as
flashes of the previous night danced before her eyes. She'd woken up
aroused, she'd wanted him, and she'd had him. End of story.

Oh, and Fowley had seen them. She shrugged. All was fair in love and
war - and war it had been. She'd been fighting with - as well as
against - Mulder for 6 years. It wasn't her fault if Diana had
accidentally witnessed their...peace negotiations.

She laid her hand on his shoulder and shook him lightly.

"Mulder, wake up."

His eyes fluttered open. He was one of those fortunate people who go
straight from sleep to complete awareness in a blink. Then again,
Mulder never really slept.

He raised himself on one elbow, lifted his eyes towards her - and
stopped abruptly at mid-height.

Dana Scully suddenly remembered that she was stark naked.

She sighed inwardly. <Men!> "Hey."

"Hey," he answered distractedly, his voice like gravel.

She sat next to him on the edge of the bed and he finally managed to
lift his gaze away from her breasts to meet her eyes. His cheeks were
slightly flushed.

"There's no need to blush, G-man, I don't mind."

"I can see that." His self-conscious chuckle died in his throat as
concern suddenly stiffened his features like a clay mask. He sat up.

"How do you feel?"

She was about to reply that she was fine - which was true - but she
had used those words too many times as a lie for him to believe them.

She laid a hand on his forearm.

"I'm good, Mulder. Thirsty and starving but apart from that, I haven't
felt better in years."

He tilted his head on one side and looked at her with his trademark
Paranoids R Us scrutinizing stare. Her eyes were bright and clear,
void of the dark abomination which had flickered periodically over the
whites of Marita's eyes. She looked better, too, much better, even if
she was still far too thin to look completely healthy. It wasn't a
good sign when you could count exactly how many ribs a person
possessed.

He lifted his hand to brush her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
She closed her eyes and leant into his touch with a small murmur of
contentment.

"Do you have any recollection of what happened down there?"

Her eyes snapped open and she straightened up, shaking her head.
"No. That's what I wanted to ask you. What happened, Mulder?"

"I'll tell you in a minute." He shifted uneasily on the bed.

She lowered her gaze. Her partner was in full morning glory.

And God, was it - glorious.

"Quit staring, Scully." He threw his long legs over the edge of the
bed and moved to stand up.

"Can't blame a girl for being impressed."

He raised an eyebrow at her over his shoulder as he endeavoured to
slip into his boxers.

"Impressed? Really?"

"No need to sound so smug, Mulder. The ones I usually see are past
their use-by date."

"Well, you sure haven't forgotten how to deal with live ones, Doctor
Scully."

She shot him an impish smile.

"Now who's smug?" he teased, fastening the fly of his trousers.

"Shut up, Mulder, and bring me some food."

"Yes Ma'am."

***

Mulder sighed blissfully as he relieved his bladder against a palm
tree. Marita's dark predictions hadn't come true. Well, Scully's
eerily closed-off lovemaking had freaked him out last night, but he
had been exhausted, on edge, and after all, he had very little
experience of his partner's behaviour in an intimate context. At work
she was more guarded than a high security prison, using her eyes
rather than her voice to communicate with him. Why should that change?

<Your cock is no magic wand buddy.>

Good old macho performance anxiety, that's what it was. Oh well, never
mind, he had every intention to keep practising until his partner's
vocal chords produced a sound - if Diana let him keep the tools to do
so, that is.

He winced at the thought of his former lover.

Diana... The woman who'd prevented him from becoming an emaciated,
haunted, pill popping wreck like his partner. The woman who'd mended
him, restored his sanity... so he could go back and burn his wings on
the sizzling blue flame that was Scully.

<Enough with the guilt trip, Mulder. You didn't think twice about it
last night, remember?>

Something moved at the edge of his vision, bringing him sharply back
to reality. He started to turn his head and just had time to see a
black-clad arm raised above him before pain exploded in his head. He
felt his knees hit the ground as the dark spiral of oblivion engulfed
him.

***

The man signalled to his three companions to head for the tents while
he took a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. It was going to be an
easy job. He didn't understand why the boss had felt it necessary to
send four of them to neutralise a camel driver, an elderly pilot, a
geek and two women. It was a waste of resources really.

He watched as his men disappeared into each tent. Killing people in
their sleep lacked panache somehow, but the orders had been clear.
Bring back the geek and the redhead, and get rid of the others. Hunted
people always expect to be attacked at night, but in the morning they
usually let their guard down and fall asleep - which was exactly what
he was counting on. He slipped the handcuffs around Mulder's wrists
and waited for the others to finish their jobs.

***

Fowley woke up. Her head was pounding, her slight hangover heightening
every sound. And she knew immediately before opening her eyes that
someone was inside the tent, someone who was trying very hard to be
silent. Not a good sign.

She forced her breath to remain even and waited until the intruder's
own breathing told her that he was standing just above her. She opened
her eyes. A man was leaning over and she saw the muzzle of a silencer
being aimed at her. Quick as a snake with dysentery, she drew her
knees up and struck the stranger square in the stomach. The man fell
backwards with a surprised grunt, and before he had time to recover
Fowley had jumped on him, twisted his wrist and forced him to let go
of his gun. Her opponent's hands shot up and grabbed her throat,
squeezing hard. A red veil blurred her vision as her nails raked the
sand until she felt the coolness of steel under her palm. There was a
muffled 'whump' and everything went silent.

***

The soldier entered the tent cautiously and eyed the two sleeping
forms on the camp beds. One of the men was snoring loudly, but despite
this his companion looked fast asleep - which meant he must be a heavy
sleeper. Good. The man took a few silent steps towards the older man
and aimed his gun.

When he felt the thin leather cord around his neck, it was already too
late.

Ali watched the man collapse silently at his feet with a detached
look. Bob was still snoring.

***

Scully had found the gourd by her bed and was drinking with
unrestrained delight. The tepid water was soft and soothing against
the walls of her dry throat. She rummaged among the pile of rumpled
clothes at her feet and 'borrowed' Mulder's approximately clean shirt.
Her own clothes smelled as if Walter had slept on them.

She heard the ruffle of heavy fabric behind her. She cast a glance
over her shoulder - and froze.

It wasn't Mulder.

A man in dark combat gear was pointing a silencer-equipped gun at her.

<Uh-oh. Think quick, Dana.>

She turned round to face him slowly, raising her hands above her head
in surrender. As she did this, the flaps of the unbuttoned shirt gaped
opened - revealing that it was all she wore.

She took a few measured steps forwards and flashed the soldier a
thousand-watt smile.

His Adam's apple bobbled up and down and for a split second his
concentration wavered.

A split second was all she needed.

Her clasped fists went down and her knee went up at practically the
same time. The man dropped his gun and crumpled at her feet,
whimpering and holding his crotch.

She grabbed the gun and waited for her assailant to recover.

<A case of feminine wiles well used, Starbuck,> the ghost of her
father's voice laughed in her head.

<Doing my best, Daddy.>

***

Fowley chanced a look outside, wincing as the sharp light hit her
eyes. Everything was quiet.  Gun in hand, she slid outside and made
her way to the nearest tent, her eyes darting around, every sense
alert.

"Bob? Ali?" she called in a loud whisper once she reached the front of
the tent, her eyes still scanning the campsite.

The flap lifted and Bob came out, also holding a gun.

"Guess we had the same wake up call, Di."

"You OK?"

"Yeah, Ali hit the 'snooze' button in a big way. I owe the little guy
a life."

"Not the best deal he could get."

"You don't know that yet, Di," he leered at her.

She ignored him and gestured towards the last tent on the other side.

"We'd better go and check if they're OK."

The pilot nodded and, sticking his head briefly into the tent, told
Ali to wait for them.

They were halfway across the campsite when the crack of a gunshot made
them duck headfirst and throw themselves onto the sand.

"Shit." Bob grimaced and tried to locate the shooter.

Another bullet mewled passed them, scant inches from Diana's ear.

Raising their heads, they saw a hastily dressed Scully suddenly appear
and run from her tent, flatten herself against the nearest tree and
start to fire her gun in the general direction of their aggressor
while shouting at them:

"MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!"

They both jumped to their feet and ran for cover.

Diana heard a gasp of pain and saw her friend waver as blood blossomed
on his white shirt.

"Bob!"

She grabbed his arm and pushed him forward. They both collapsed behind
the relative safety of an acacia bush.

"Scully! HELP!"

That was Mulder's voice. Lifting her head, Diana caught a glimpse of
him between the palm trees a few yards away as he struggled with
another of those ubiquitous black-clad men.

She saw Scully leave her position and start to race from tree to tree
towards her partner, like a rabbit on speed.

<Can't resist your master's voice, can you, Red?>

Oh, OK, that wasn't fair. But having to kill someone first thing in
the morning and then being shot at - all this on top of a hangover -
gave her every right to be bitchy. And that was without adding last
night's events to the equation...

She briefly lowered her gaze towards Bob, who was holding his side,
blood oozing from between his fingers. His face was ashen.

"You OK?"

"Peachy," he hissed between clenched teeth.

In the distance, she saw their opponent manage to pull out of Mulder's
grip and hit him in the jaw. The sun caught on the handcuffs around
the agent's wrists, glaring brightly on the metal, and she realised
then that he'd never stood a chance.

The man was distracted long enough for Scully to step behind him.

"Freeze!"

The soldier swivelled on his feet to face her. He smirked, lifted his
gun very slowly, and pointed it at Mulder's head.

"Wanna play rough, sweetie?"

Scully narrowed her eyes, held the man's contemptuous stare and pulled
the trigger. A perfect little crimson hole appeared on the man's
forehead.

"Yup."

The man collapsed backward.

She focussed on her partner, who was watching her from his fallen
position with a strange look on his face.

"What?" she snapped, still reeling from the adrenalin rush.

"That's my shirt." He tried to nurse his jaw with his bound hands.

"Nothing gets past you, Agent Mulder." She knelt down to search for
the handcuff's keys in the dead man's pocket.

Once his hands were free, Mulder grabbed his partner by the neck and
crushed his lips against hers, his tongue darting briefly against her
own before retreating.

Surprised, Scully drew back sharply. "What was that for?"

"Seeing you kick ass wearing my clothes turns me on like you wouldn't
believe, Scully." He flashed his unbearable GQ boy grin at her.

She rolled her eyes. "Mulder, I'd appreciate it if you reined in your
impulses till we're in private." She stood up. "Besides, what will
your girlfriend think?" She nodded towards the campsite.

<Ouch.> "Low blow Scully."

This time her professional mask slipped a little and her face
softened.

"Everything in good time, Mulder." She offered him her hand. "Come
on."

He grabbed her hand and pulled himself up. She released him and let
out a low chuckle as she noticed the impact her last words had had on
him.

"You look shocked, partner. Was it something I said?"

Not waiting for his answer, she pivoted on her heels and headed back
towards the camp.

Mulder took a deep breath. <Down boy!>

-------------
Part Thirteen
-------------

   "Oh, make me over, I'm all I wanna be
    A walking study in demonology."

                   - HOLE - Celebrity Skin -
 

"How is he doing?"

Scully shot a brief glance at Fowley, and removed her latex gloves.
Bob lay unconscious on the camp bed, a thick white bandage covering
his left side.

"I removed the bullet. Luckily it seems to have passed through his
side below the diaphragm without piercing the peritoneum, and no major
internal organs appear to have sustained damage. But he's lost a lot
of blood; he's going to need several units transfused - and IV
painkillers if he regains consciousness."

"I guess there's no point in my asking if he will cope with a three
day camel trip?"

"It would kill him."

"So much for breaking the news gently."

Scully shrugged. "What can I say? If he doesn't reach a hospital
within 24 hours he'll probably die."

Fowley's temper flared like a 4th of July Roman candle.  "For Christ's
sake! Did you really have to say that out loud? What if he heard you?"

"He won't. I sedated him."

The brown haired woman glared at her. "You're such a compassionate
woman, aren't you, *Doctor* Scully?"

"Comforting you isn't part of my duty, Agent Fowley. I leave that to
my partner." She stepped past Fowley, heading outside.

Diana shook her head, not believing what she had just heard. "You can
be such a ..."

She stopped; it wasn't the best of times to pick a fight.

Scully pivoted to face her, raising one perfect eyebrow challengingly.
"Such a what? Go ahead, say it."

Fowley clenched her jaw, seething.

"A bitch? Is that what you were going to say?" asked Scully.

"Glad to hear you know already."

"I know exactly what I am, Agent Fowley. So does Mulder, and you know
what?" Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. "He likes it."

Watching Scully turn on her heels, Fowley wondered if she could plead
temporary insanity if she shot a fellow agent in the back.

Probably not.

But she was still very, very tempted.

***

"Interesting bondage technique, Scully."

Following her instructions, Mulder had found the remaining soldier in
their tent, hands cuffed behind his back, feet tied together with
strips of fabric apparently torn from his partner's shirt. But the
most unusual piece of binding was her bra, which had been used to tie
the man's bound hands close to his ankles, so he wouldn't be able to
crawl away.

Mulder untied the sensible white cotton bra and tossed it back to
Scully, who caught it mid-air and pocketed it, raising her shoulders
in a what-else-could-I-do shrug.

Mulder turned his attention back to the man. "Who sent you?"

The man raised his head to look at them from his crouching position on
the ground, but remained silent.

"Was it Strughold?"

The soldier still refused to answer. Mulder lifted him by his shirt
and slapped him.

"Don't make me lose my temper. Talk or I'll make some drastic changes
to your face's topography."

The soldier sneered but did not reply.

Mulder felt Scully's hand on his shoulder, pushing him away. She aimed
the man's own gun at his knee, muttering, "We've got no time for
this."

And shot.

The soldier screamed in pain, squirming on the floor.

Mulder's jaw dropped in shock. "Scully!"

She ignored him and knelt in front of the wounded man.

"Talk."

Their prisoner lifted his head, anger burning in his eyes. And when
his gaze locked with Scully's, something unexpected happened. Anger
receded from the soldier's face and fear poured in, as if someone had
suddenly flipped some invisible hourglass inside him. Mulder, standing
behind them, had no idea what had triggered this radical change of
emotions.

But he knew one thing.

This professional killer looked terrified.

Of her.

He started to talk then, too fast, stumbling on his words.
"Strughold wanted to - to bring you two back. We - we were told to
kill the others."

"Why?" Scully's voice was as hard and cold as an ice block.

"I don't know - I swear I don't know! They just give us orders!" the
soldier almost wailed.

Scully stood up and turned towards Mulder. Her eyes looked...normal.
She sighed. "So what now?"

Mulder looked at the man, whose knee was bleeding profusely. "How did
you get here?"

"Helicopter. Two miles south," he choked out, gritting his teeth.

"More men down there?"

"No." The soldier was going into shock and having difficulty
breathing.

Mulder looked at his partner. "I'm going to go down there and bring
the helicopter back, then we can all get the hell out of here." He
motioned towards their prisoner and added, "Take care of him."

"I will."

Mulder left.

Scully turned slowly towards the pale and clammy man.

"I know what you are..." he breathed.

This time she aimed for the head.

***

Mulder entered the tent where Diana and Ali were looking after Bob.
The pilot was still unconscious.

"Diana, I need your help. There's a helicopter not far from here, and
you're the only one who can fly those things."

Fowley stood up, and patted Bob's hand. "Things are looking up,
buddy."

They went out of the tent and walked in silence for a while.

"At least that's one skill your *partner* doesn't have." She spat the
word like an insult.

Mulder stopped. "Diana..."

She kept walking, not looking at him.

"I hope for you she's worth it, Fox - I hope she's worth *us*."

"I'm sorry."

She swivelled on her feet and glared at him.

"Don't you dare say that again. You're not sorry. I'm a mere casualty
in the little mind-fuck war that you two enjoy playing so much."

He sighed. "I never intended to hurt you. I didn't want it to happen
like this."

"HA! And how did you want it to happen then? A bunch of flowers and a
note reading "let's just be friends"? If you ask me, that would really
cramp your style, Fox Mulder!"

"I thought you would understand."

"Understand what? That you would take the first opportunity to betray
me?"

"No. That there's something between Scully and me that I just can't
fight."

She shot him a withering look.

"At least you should have had the courtesy to dump me before. Two
nights ago, you said it was a mistake, and I trusted you. I could have
forgiven a quick fuck, but that's not what this is all about, is it?"

"No."

That he would so easily admit this and give up on her enraged her even
more.

<You like bitches, Fox Mulder? Here, take this.>

"Well then, let me wish you all the best to you and your little
exhibitionist slut."

Mulder stopped dead in his track.

"What did you just say?" A menacing tone crept into his voice. He
wasn't going to let *anybody* insult his partner.

"You may not be aware of this, but last night I came to see you, only
to be greeted by the sight of your partner fucking you and looking me
straight in the eyes. The little bitch seemed to get quite a kick out
of it."

Mulder was staring at her with the blank look of a man who suddenly
realises he's been playing poker with the wrong set of cards.

"You think you know her, Fox, but you don't. She knew exactly what was
going on. She wanted me out of the game, and she succeeded."

He shook his head fiercely, as if to dislodge the doubts Diana had
just driven through his mind like so many pikes on a Corrida bull.

"No. She wouldn't do that. She's not like that."

"Yeah, right." Fowley resumed walking, not bothering to check if he
was following.

She'd known all along it had only been a matter of time. So why the
hell did it hurt so much?

They finally spotted the helicopter and climbed inside. While Fowley
checked the dials and fired the engine, Mulder rummaged among the maps
tucked between the seats. His fingers encountered a small steel object
and he pulled it out. It was a box of some kind, oval in shape, and
the size of his palm. After a bit of fumbling he managed to slide the
lid open. It had a small LCD screen on its surface, surrounded by a
narrow panel with some strange signs on it.

Diana looked at him while fastening her helmet. She was still angry at
him but curiosity got the better of her.

"What is it?"

"I have absolutely no idea - some kind of sophisticated compass,
maybe?" He fiddled with it, but couldn't switch it on.

"Never saw anything like that before."

"Then maybe it's just a Game Boy."

"I doubt our visitors were the type to play 'Ghouls & Ghosts'."

He nodded thoughtfully and closed the box.

***

They landed the helicopter near the campsite some 30 minutes later.
Fowley went to pack her things while Mulder headed towards Bob and
Ali's tent to retrieve the pilot's possessions. Ali was still by the
man's bedside when he entered. Mulder informed the Tuareg of their
plans and offered to take him along. The young man refused politely in
his broken English.

"Effendi, no worry. Ali go home with camels."

"You sure you'll be OK, Ali? The men who are chasing us are
dangerous."

The camel driver patted Mulder's arm, smiling.

"Bad men want you, not Ali."

Mulder smiled back. "You're right, it's not really safe to be around
us these days."

Ali grinned. "Effendi go home marry small woman now."

The agent laughed. "I wish it were that simple."

"Life simple, Effendi. Woman difficult."

"You've got it in a nutshell, Ali."

The young man touched his hand successively to his forehead, lips and
chest, in traditional Arabian style. Mulder responded in the same
fashion.

"Thanks, Ali. Thank you for everything."

"Effendi welcome."

Mulder went out to look for Scully. He caught sight of her, piling up
a few bags outside the tent, and headed towards her.

"How is our prisoner doing?" he asked, as he lifted the tent's flap to
enter.

She looked at him evenly. "He's dead."

Mulder felt as if he'd just been reamed with a steel rod. He looked
inside the tent and saw the man crumpled on the floor with a bullet
hole in his forehead. He turned towards her stiffly.

"You killed him?"

"I had to."

Muscles in his jaw twitched as if he had bitten into a very sour
lemon. It was all turning into a fucking nightmare. The Scully he knew
just didn't kill people in cold blood.

"You *had* to?"

"This man was dangerous."

"Not after you shot him in the knee."

"I had no choice, he wouldn't have talked otherwise."

"Is that your justification?"

She pinned him with a hard stare. "I'm getting sick of your
questioning my actions, Mulder. I did what was necessary under the
circumstances. Would you have preferred Bob to die, while we waited
for our would-be assassin to willingly share information?"

"I didn't say that."

He also didn't want to point out that it wasn't the bullet which had
made the man talk. Some things were better left aside for the time
being.

"This man was a killer, Mulder."

"Yes, but he was still a man."

She narrowed her eyes to two laser-blue slits. "What's that supposed
to mean?"

"That as a doctor, I expected you to value human life a bit more."

From the way she blinked and momentarily held her breath, he knew he'd
hit a nerve and managed to hurt her. <Good to see some things don't
change.>

"I value our pilot's life. Over the years I have had to learn to make
choices. This man knew the risks he was taking. He was a threat to us.
I didn't kill an innocent, Mulder," she replied in the clipped and
precise tones which usually signalled that she was one gunshot away
from losing her temper.

But he didn't care what state her temper was in - because he was
nearly losing his. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "For God's
sake, Scully! You put him down like a dog! No matter how guilty he
was, the fact is that you killed a wounded, defenceless man, can't you
see that?"

She opened her mouth to reply, then stopped as if finally realising
the significance of his words.

She dropped her gaze. "I thought I was doing the right thing." The
slightly surprised tone of her voice implied that she didn't believe
it was true anymore.

He sighed, and shook his head. "Listen Scully, we'll talk about this
later, OK?"

She lifted her eyes to his, and he was taken aback by their
expression. It was as if she was mourning a part of herself she just
realised she'd lost.

She turned away from him, grabbed her bags and headed for the
helicopter.

***

Ali watched the helicopter rise, the rotors churning the palm trees'
leaves into a mad dance. The Tuareg walked to his camel and opened one
of the side packs. He removed a small metallic case from its depths,
sat down and opened it.

Ali started typing his message in Morse code.

*You owe me a crate of Zubrowska, Alex. Can I have my lab coat back
now?*

RATING: NC-17. Definitely not suitable for young readers. Things are
getting rough and disturbing. So if you expect lovey dovey mush, stop
right here. Here comes the unholy trinity of violence, graphic sex and
blasphemy. My beta reader tells me the final scene sounds pretty much
like rape, I thought I should warn you.
 

-------------
Part Fourteen
-------------

     "Honey help me out of this mess, I'm a stranger to myself."

                                   - Fiona Apple - The Child Is Gone -
 

The flight back was tense - and very quiet. Diana and Scully ignored
each other and both of them ignored Mulder. But that suited him just
fine - he needed the time to think. Time to think about what Marita
had said. Time to analyse the data, point by point, remembering
previous cases, trying to find a flaw in her story, anything which
would have convinced him that she'd been lying. He had to talk to
Scully about it; although she wasn't an anthropologist, with her
scientific background and her pathological scepticism she'd probably
manage to dismantle the whole theory with a few finely honed facts.

For the first time in his life Fox Mulder didn't want to believe.

He didn't want to believe that Man's presence on this planet had been
engineered to serve some obscure aliens' scheme. Didn't want to
believe that under the earth a colossal entity was biding its time.

No.

He didn't want Marita to be right. Because if she were, it could also
mean that she had been right about other things - about Scully.

*This connection affects the human psyche quite dramatically.*

He chanced a look at his partner. She was looking at the window, her
gaze following the black sinuous shadow the helicopter cast over the
dunes. She was still wearing his shirt, her hair was tangled in messy
strands and a smear of dirt made a scar-like mark under her sunburnt
cheekbone. Her lips were curved downwards in the half pout she didn't
know she wore when she was lost in thought. She looked so normal, so
familiar - and yet...

He had visited a vivarium once, with his father. The animals looked
cute but the thick glass of their cages reminded you that their
reactions were unpredictable. You couldn't help looking at them with a
paradoxical mixture of awe and wariness.

Just like now...

***

Mulder dropped the hotel key on a desk which had seen better days, and
headed for the shower. Bob was in a hospital at last. When they'd been
sure that he was in good hands and his life was not in any danger, he
and Fowley had headed for the nearest hotel - both eager to remove the
grime from their sweaty, sand-encrusted bodies - while Scully had
stayed behind to terrorize the medical staff, barking orders as if she
owned the place.

He stayed a long time under the spray, watching the sand disappear
down the plughole, his mind empty, concentrating only on the feel of
the water running over his skin, caressing him with the soft whispers
of a sylphine lover. When clouds of sleep started to gather in his
head, he turned off the shower and dried himself sloppily. A towel
wrapped around his hips, he padded to the bed and collapsed on it.

***

Scully entered the room and took in the sight of her partner lying on
his stomach, his long limbs stretched like a kite frame over the white
sheets, with only a towel half-covering his ass.

He was snoring.

She rolled her eyes. <Great.>

She went into the bathroom and started to undress. She stepped under
the shower and soaped herself distractedly, her mind miles away - back
in the desert. Something was happening to her. She'd killed a man with
no second thoughts. Because it had been the simplest choice - casual
Darwinism.

Mulder was right, it was so unlike her.

The look on their prisoner's face was still vivid in her mind; he had
been scared of her, and she didn't know why.

She let the water pound over her face, the soldier's last words
echoing in her ears.

*I know what you are.*

What was she?

Something had wrapped itself like cling film around her heart, and was
gradually smothering her emotional self.

She was puzzled, when she should have felt guilty.

She was annoyed, when she should have been angry.

She was unsettled, when she should have been terrified.

***

Mulder woke up and noticed the slender shape of his partner, wrapped
in a bathrobe and curled up into an armchair by the window. He glanced
at the clock on the bedside table. Two a.m.

"Scully?"

"You only got one room."

All right, he'd forgotten the Scully Handling Rule number one: Never
Take Anything For Granted.

"Does that bother you?"

"No."

"Then why don't you come to bed? To sleep," he hastened to add. No
need to sound too eager. Their new dynamic was as fragile as spun
glass; a single badly aimed word could still shatter it - and no doubt
she wouldn't hesitate to gut him open with the shards if he wasn't
careful.

She looked at him over her shoulder, and despite the relative darkness
of the bedroom he knew he was being given The Eyebrow privilege.

"I'm not sleepy."

He switched on the bedside lamp, noticed he was naked and went to
retrieve a pair of sweatpants from his travel bag. He crossed the room
and came to crouch by the armchair, resting one hand on the armrest,
not daring to touch her. She looked at him pensively and raised a hand
to push a lock of hair from his forehead.

Mulder released a slow breath. <OK. We're good.>

He caught her hand in his, and kissed her palm.

"Too wound up to sleep?"

"Sort of."

He creased his brow, waiting for her to be more explicit.

"Mulder, what happened to me?"

<Here we go.> Not releasing her hand, he sat down to be more
comfortable and took a deep breath.

"Do you remember seeing the oil when we were down there?"

"Yes."

"Well, apparently this oil emits a low frequency sound which the human
brain normally can't register. But sometimes people who were infected
develop this ability, thus inducing a kind of catatonic state. And
that's what happened to you."

"Mulder, oil doesn't emit sound waves."

"This one does..."

She dropped her chin and pursed her lips. "Please, let *me* say it.
This one does because it's alien."

He smiled at her softly. "Not exactly."

As he had done with Diana, he began to tell her Marita's own version
of the Origin of Species.

But unlike Diana, she fought every step of the way - going into full
lecture mode.

"Mulder, that's ridiculous. It's far too circumvallated a theory to be
even remotely possible. According to Occam's Razor, the theory making
the fewest assumptions is most likely to be correct. Which is
likelier - that the gradual changes in human species over millennia
were caused by natural selection of those of the constant chance
mutations which made the genes' bearers more suited to the gradually
changing conditions of the African savannah, or that those millions of
tiny alterations to the DNA code were deliberately made by an outside
force, one by one? The progression palaeoanthropologists see in
ancient hominid remains is more simply explained by changes in climate
and availability of different foods."

"I'd say the alien hypothesis is equally simple, Scully, in a Veni
Vidi Mutavi kind of way."

"And what about the existence of point mutations in junk DNA? Their
gradual build-up would be expected in non-functional areas of
chromosomes according to neo-Darwinian theory - but why would
interfering aliens take the trouble to produce such meaningless
changes?"

"Maybe they're not meaningless."

"Mulder, an evolutionary process is not something you can trigger like
that."

"Scully, I'm too tired to argue with you - and besides, I never
thought I'd say this, but I hope you're right."

She stared at him as if he'd just said he'd grown wings and flown to
Memphis.

She pointed a finger to his chest and gave him a little playful push.
"All right, what have you done with my partner, alien scum?"

He grabbed her finger and held it. "Isn't that supposed to be my
line?"

Her eyes grew cold.

Three words sprung in his mind. Foot. In. Mouth.

She withdrew her finger and raised herself from the armchair. He
watched her - at a loss for what to say - as she stared out of the
window, hugging herself.

He lifted himself, knees cracking, to stand behind her. Tentatively,
he reached for her. She was so tense; her shoulder muscles buzzed like
a high voltage line under his palms.

"Scully..."

"She lied to you, Mulder," she whispered.

"Let's hope so."

She turned to face him. The rest happened as quickly as if some god
had pressed 'fast forward' on their personal VCR. She grabbed his
neck, forced his head down and kissed him hungrily - or angrily, he
wasn't sure which - her warm tongue parting his lips and checking out
his dental status.

Once his brain cells had stopped panicking and switched on the
'getting laid' beacon, he found enough coordination to lift her up in
his arms. Her legs wrapped themselves around his hips, her heels
digging like blunt spurs into the small of his back.

He carried her to the bed while she declared war on his tonsils.

The back of his knees hit the mattress and he sat down heavily,
weighed down by 100 lbs or so of very focussed Scully. When she felt
her own legs make contact with the bed, she pushed him flat on his
back and without further ado grabbed the waistband of his sweatpants
and pulled them down.

She crawled back to hover above him on her elbows and knees, and he
briefly wondered as she leant down to suck on his neck whether that
was something she'd learnt from watching too many late night
Hammer-Horror movies. He reached for the sash of her robe but she
caught his wrists in a steel grip and pinned them above his head.

<It's Special Agent *In Charge* to you, old boy.>

Not that he minded. Especially when her lips started trailing a line
of wet little bites down his chest. Her hands left his wrists,
brushing along his arms and down his sides before settling against the
hollows of his hips. Her lips had reached his stomach, and when she
nipped at the thin skin stretched over his pelvic bone, his hips
bucked and a moan escaped his lips. She shot him an analytical look,
as if she were about to grab her legal pad and take notes.

She seemed not to pay attention to his straining hard-on, which was
another attestation of her capacity for denial, since in his present
state his cock could have been used for trooping the colours. Instead
she slid off the bed, lifted one of his legs which had been dangling
over the edge of the mattress and ran her tongue along the underside
of his thigh, stopping at the line where his ass began, to trail a
succession of damp and warm kisses there. Soon both his thighs were
pressed against his stomach as she repeated her actions on the
other side.

His macho self scolded him for allowing this rather unmanly position,
but he was far too aroused to pay attention. Then the tip of her
tongue pressed briefly against the sensitive patch of skin under his
balls and he stopped listening altogether. His hips lifted right off
the bed as a sharp surprised whimper burst from his throat.

That she managed to back away before one of his flailing legs kicked
her off was a miracle. He raised his spinning head to look at her as
she knelt on the floor, hands demurely folded on her lap, head tilted
on one side, looking like an innocent schoolgirl about to listen to
the Reverend Mother's weekly sermon. But the smug half-smile playing
on her lips and the dark flicker of sin dancing in her dilated pupils
somewhat ruined the picture. The little witch had known exactly what
reaction to expect.

She untied the sash of her robe, let it pool around her and snaked her
body between his legs. This time she went straight for the jugular -
so to speak, since she wasn't heading for his throat at all.

<OH.MY.FUCKING.GOD.>

And *he* was supposed to be the one with the oral fixation?

Her tongue searched for ley lines while her lips moved in a slow and
tight slide around him, making his blood thick as burning wax at the
base of his spine. His ass tensed as he tried to rein in the urge to
push himself deeper in her throat.

"Ooooh Ghhhh..." Yeah, okay, he was calling to a 'Ghhh' he didn't
believe in, but he was ready to revise his opinion if this was what
Catholic upbringing had in stock for mankind.

She stopped as abruptly as she had started, but he didn't have time to
articulate any objection - for the next thing he knew she was on top
of him and he was buried to the hilt inside her, tighter and hotter
than her mouth had been. He reached for her one more time but she
intercepted his hands again and pressed them under her own against his
chest.

Part of him wanted to let go and surrender to the sweet ecstasy her
lower body was generating as she started moving against him, but the
other part was telling him more and more loudly that there was
something missing. He had always assumed that making love to her would
bring a new level of intimacy.

He was suddenly devastated to find out that he'd been wrong.

They'd shared more with a few potent looks than they did at this very
moment as she drove herself onto him with her eyes closed.

He'd wanted to make love.

She was having sex.

And despite the obvious care she put into it, it remained distant,
controlled - as if she was trying to achieve something specific -
experimenting.

He freed his hands and reached for her hips, forcing her to stop.

"Stay with me, Scully."

She fought him, eyes still closed, pushing her hands on his chest to
try to lift herself up, but he didn't let her.

"Stay. With. Me," he commanded, more forcefully this time.

She opened here eyes and he wished she hadn't.

Her pupils were two black holes where light came to die - a total
eclipse over the blue moons of her irises.

It felt like the cosmic equivalent of a cold shower. She must have
sensed it because she quickly averted her gaze, before escaping from
his grip. She stumbled off him and backed away, the soft thud of her
feet on the wooden floor strangely loud in the small room.

Rage came. Cold, hard, unyielding rage, stealing his breath, blaring
in his eardrums, tinting his vision with a crimson filter. He leapt
off the bed and launched himself after her as she attempted to reach
the shelter of the bathroom. His fingers closed like talons on her
upper arm, squeezing it so tightly he could feel the bone underneath
her flesh.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going, Scully?!"

She didn't reply and fought to break free - keeping her back to him.
Anger was eating at his veins like sulphuric acid and he pulled her
back towards him, hard.

She lost her balance and fell to the floor, taking him along with her,
and he landed on top of her. She pushed on her arms, trying to lift
him off. She might have been pretty strong for her size, but when push
came to shove, he was still much heavier than she was.

"You're not going anywhere till you tell me what's the matter with
you," he panted against her ear, pinning her arms to the floor.

Her nails clawed at the floorboards as she tried to crawl away. Her
squirming motions caused his cock to slide between the crack of her
ass.

She gave up struggling for a moment to catch her breath. Her body
relaxed under his and became suddenly soft and inviting.

Her hips pushed up slightly against his.

He lost it.

He grabbed the back of her thighs and pushed her legs roughly apart.
Raising himself on his knees, he slid one hand under her stomach and
rammed himself inside her.

She cried out, and it was probably not in pleasure.

Anger fuelled his hunger as he thrust - fast and furious - into her,
his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips as he pulled her
hard against his groin.

"Is...this...better?" he hissed. "Is it... anonymous enough... for
you, Scully? Like this...so you can't see... my fucking... face!"

Her body was limp and pliant under him, her face pressed against one
of her outstretched arms. She wasn't fighting him anymore, but she
wasn't participating either. It stoked his rage even further. He
wanted to hurt the stranger who had taken up residence inside her and
stolen her will to fight, so he kept driving into her, over and over
again, until orgasm ambushed him and drowned him within a chaotic
tsunami, frightening in its intensity. He collapsed on top of her,
pinning her to the floor like a doomed butterfly.

His head gradually cleared with every shallow breath he took until the
harsh reality of what had just happened hit him full blast in the
stomach.

<What...What have I done?>

He pushed himself up with a jerk - horrified - bile rising in his
throat. She didn't move; she just lay there - so still.

There was a smear of blood on her left inner thigh.

Unable to look at her any longer, he staggered to the bathroom and
collapsed over the toilet, throwing up and sobbing at the same time -
self-hatred, guilt and helplessness congealing in his stomach in a
hard painful mass.

----------
Part Fifteen
-----------

               "Once my lover, now my friend,
                what a cruel thing to pretend
                what a cunning way to condescend..."

                                    Fiona Apple - Shadowboxer -

The smell of wood; the feel of glass against his nerveless fingers;
whiffs of stale smoke and alcohol drifting in and out of his nose.

Fox Mulder opened his eyes only to close them again immediately. One
of his cheeks was sticking damply to the hard surface of a table, and
his vision was flickering like a cheap projector. There were noises in
the background - the low rumble of a fridge, the sliced rhythm of a
ventilation system, and further away, voices - coming in random waves
over a high pitched buzz issuing steadily from somewhere deep inside
his skull.

He forced his eyes open once more, blinking hard to make his
roller-coaster vision come to a halt. He lifted a head which seemed
heavy with concrete and looked blurrily around him.

He was in the hotel bar.

Drunk.

<No shit, Sherlock.>

Alone.

<Scully.>

A vicious flash of memory blinded him and he let his head fall back to
the table with a pained moan.

He remembered how he had ended up there.

He remembered her cold fingers against his neck as he heaved into the
toilet, how she'd lifted his chin and wiped his mouth with a damp
cloth; remembered hearing the sound of running water behind him and
turning his head to see her - with her terrycloth robe hanging open -
wiping off the blood between her thighs. Remembered how she'd held his
horrified gaze evenly, calmly, as if he were merely watching her
perform some casual everyday bathroom ritual. As if nothing had
happened. As if he hadn't...

As if he hadn't...

He banged his head against the wood, grateful when the pain exploding
in his head prevented him from finishing his train of thought. A wave
of nausea surged in his stomach and his fingers clenched around the
glass he was still holding. He dragged it to his mouth and forced
himself to take a sip, his hand shaking.

Whisky. He vaguely recalled stumbling into the reception area,
demanding to be let inside the bar and being sold a bottle. He must
have looked pretty wild and deranged because the staff had hurried to
comply without even trying to tell him that it was nearly five o'clock
in the morning and that the bar had been shut for three hours.

They'd let him in, removed the upturned chairs from one of the table,
given him his bottle, taken his money and left him there in the
shadows as he drank shot after shot to smother the soul-ripping scream
creeping in his throat.

He finally stopped sloshing the liquid around in his mouth where it
was burning the soft tissues inside his cheeks. He swallowed, nearly
gagged and stopped breathing. Asphyxiation seemed a better option than
puking his guts all over the place, and at least if he passed out he
would stop thinking. The nausea receded slightly and he breathed out
cautiously.

He dipped his lips to his glass once more, and felt reality crumbling
softly like a sandcastle dampened by the tide.

***

Someone was pulling on his hair, forcing his head up.

"Taking to your father's breakfast habits, Fox?"

The fingers released his hair. His forehead hit the table and he
grunted.

"'Uck offf, Di."

"Yeah, right. Come on, you can't stay here."

The hand slipped under his arm and pulled upward to try to force him
to stand up. He obeyed unsteadily, not finding any reason to
object...indeed, not finding thoughts of any kind.

Supporting half his weight, Diana cursed and tightened her grip around
his back. She'd woken up early to go to the hospital, but as she was
making her way through the small lobby, the hotel receptionist had
informed her in embarrassed tones that "her *friend* had fallen asleep
in the bar and could she please help him make his way back to his
room, where he would no doubt be more comfortable?"

As she dragged Mulder towards the stairs leading to their floor, she
reflected that if he had left his room to drink himself to oblivion it
was probably because things had been less than comfortable there.
She'd never seen him in that state before. Mulder didn't drink much.
He'd told her once that the reason he avoided alcohol was not so much
because his father's love story with Jack Daniels had put him off, but
because he knew that - just like his dear dad - he had been cursed
with an aptitude for addiction. "I have this junkie inside me waiting
to crave," he had said. Mulder didn't drink, didn't smoke, didn't do
drugs, because he knew that once he started he wouldn't be able to
stop.

Something must have gone very wrong.

<Didn't take long for the little bitch to fuck him up royally...>

She hauled him up the last few steps. She felt his knees buckle and
they both swayed as he leaned more heavily against her.

"Almost there, Fox."

He lifted his head and blinked. When he saw his bedroom door a few
feet away from them, his body grew rigid against hers.

"No...can't..."

He flailed at her, escaped her grasp and slumped against the wall.

Fowley sighed impatiently. "Come on, Fox, I really don't have time for
your drunk pain in the ass number." She grabbed his sleeve but he
batted her hand away.

"Can't see her..." he mumbled, before crumpling into a heap at her
feet.

Diana knelt beside him, her curiosity piqued in spite of herself.

"Why can't you see her? What happened?"

He shook his head violently and a pained moan was the only answer she
got.

She heard a door open behind her.

"Mulder!"

At the sound of Scully's voice, the drunken agent curled up even more
tightly, hid his face between his knees and started rocking back and
forth like an autistic child.

Fowley stood up and backed away when she saw the young woman hurry
towards her partner. Scully crouched in front of him and began
stroking his back and shoulders. Diana saw the redhead wrinkle her
nose.

"Mulder, are you drunk?"

"Plastered," Fowley answered for him.

Scully shot her a quick glance which didn't show as much surprise as
it should have, before returning her gaze to her partner.

"Come on, Mulder, let's go inside."

"Can't..." He kept rocking, still hiding his face.

"Yes, you can, come on." She began to pull on his arms, trying to make
them loosen their ivy grip around his legs, but he resisted.

"Noooo...hurt you," he whimpered.

Diana saw the young woman close her eyes briefly.

"Shhhh...Mulder, you didn't...it's OK, I'm OK," she whispered softly,
resuming her stroking motions along his forearms, trying to soothe
him.

Fowley started to make her way back to the stairs. Whatever had
happened between those two, she didn't want to know.

"Diana?"

She turned round. Scully was looking at her apologetically. Yeah,
something was definitely wrong there.

"Thank you."

Fowley bit back a snide comment and settled for a curt nod before
leaving.

***

After what had seemed an eternity, Scully had finally managed to coax
Mulder into releasing the death grip around his legs, and taken hold
of his hands.

"Mulder, we can't stay here."

Maybe it was the pleading tone of her voice, but this time he seemed
to listen and lifted a tear-streaked face to her.

She squeezed his fingers encouragingly and stood up.

"Come on, partner, work with me here."

Mulder's gaze skittered away, but he complied nevertheless and let her
help him stand up.

Once inside, she made him lie down and pulled the sheets and blankets
over him. He was shivering.

"Scully..."

She pushed a damp lock away from his clammy forehead.

"I'm here. Sleep, Mulder."

He looked at her through slit eyes.

"What's wrong with us, Scully?"

She stroke his cheek with the back of her hand.

"I don't know Mulder, I don't know."

***

Scully fastened her seatbelt and glanced at her partner. Mulder was
chewing his thumbnail and shooting nervous glances everywhere but at
her.

He seemed to have developed a blind spot where she was concerned.

When he'd woken up in the early afternoon, she'd handed him a glass of
water and a couple of Tylenols. He must have had a hangover the size
of a rainforest - he certainly shared the same greenish complexion. He
kept wincing at every raised voice or slammed door, and hadn't taken
his shades off all day.

They hadn't broached the subject of the previous night's disaster, not
that she'd been expecting to. If there was one thing she could still
rely on despite the wreckage of their relationship, it was that there
existed still enough understanding between them to know when words
would do more damage than good.

Their intimacy had been bred out of silence; it wasn't always ideal
nor healthy, but it was the way they functioned. And right now, it was
clear that they just needed to ignore each other for a while.

They'd booked an evening flight to D.C. and returned to the hospital
to check on Bob. The pilot was recovering quickly and was already
complaining about the lack of brandy and cigars in his regimen. Fowley
had let them know that she wanted to stay behind a little longer to
take care of him. She hadn't asked any questions - just kissed Mulder
on the cheek and whispered something in his ear which had sounded a
lot like 'congratulations'. She'd had that 'Told You So' look written
all over her face.

Scully couldn't bring herself to criticise the other agent for being
petty. Overall, the woman had played more fairly than most,
considering what they'd put her through. And the worse thing was that
Scully wasn't so sure it had been worth it.

***

8 hours in a plane is a long time when your mind is too full of
questions to let the purring sounds of the engines lull you to sleep.
Mulder seemed to be having the same problem as he tossed and turned
rigidly in his seat - his long legs a hindrance to his comfort as well
as a tripping hazard for anyone using the aisle. She also noticed that
he was keeping a safe distance between them.

There would be no drooling on each other's shoulder this time.

She couldn't even begin to explain why she hadn't wanted Mulder to
touch her when they had been making lo...no, strike that, when *she*
had been fucking *him* - because that's what it had been. The sexual
urge had been there, but that was it. Her body hadn't allowed her to
be distracted by the whole gamut of emotions usually associated with
the act.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She was sore. She might have
liked it rough sometimes, but not *that* rough. Still, she understood
why he'd reacted like that. Mulder fought his fears and frustrations
with an anger he had very little control over once he'd unleashed it.

And she'd read fear in Mulder's eyes when he'd forced her to open her
eyelids. The same fear she'd seen in the man she'd killed.

The fear caused by the sight of something which shouldn't have been
there.

Something alien.

Inside her.

She rubbed the skin of her left hand with her thumb. It looked almost
grey under the plane's green fluorescent snooze lights.

That figured.

***

By the time they arrived in DC, 12 hours and 6 time zones later,
Scully was physically exhausted. Mentally she felt fine, calm even,
but these days that state of being wasn't a surprise anymore.

A thin chilly drizzle streaking the night sky greeted them.
Mulder retrieved his car from the long-term car park and drove her
home.

When they arrived at her place he didn't make a move to follow her,
and it wasn't her intention to try and dissuade him. But she leaned
forward and brushed her lips over his, to let him know that in spite
of everything she didn't harbour any hard feelings. She knew he must
have been wandering within the sophisticated torture chambers he liked
to create inside himself - must have been doing so since they left
Tunisia, and the least she could do was to try to share a little of
her strange peace of mind with him.

He flinched slightly under her touch. "I don't deserve that."

"But I do."

She opened the car door and stepped out.

"Try to get some sleep, Mulder. I'll see you tomorrow."

He gave her a joyless smirk.

"There might be not much left to see after Skinner's done with me."

"He did mention he had some plans for you if we managed to bring you
back. Will you let me sign your plaster cast?"

She was telling him that their light-hearted partnership was still
there somewhere. He huffed at her but she caught the silent thanks in
his eyes.

She met this acknowledgement with a tight-lipped smile and went to
retrieve her bags from the trunk.

***
SKINNER'S OFFICE.
9 AM.

"I don't care if they're growing corn out of their asses in Tunisia,
Agent Mulder. If you ever so much as lift one skinny butt-cheek from
your office chair during working hours, I'll make sure you spend the
rest of your days glued to the Bureau switchboard. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

Walter Skinner glared at his agent.

"I know you're not telling me half what happened out there..." he saw
Scully lean forward in her seat, and held up a commanding hand before
she could reply, "...but since you weren't on a legitimate assignment,
I won't bother wasting my time trying to wrench it out from you. I
want the two of you back in that bullpen, and this time you'll sit
still, you hear me?"

The agents nodded. They both looked far too tame. Skinner removed his
glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"I don't need to remind you that you two are persona non grata on any
case bearing even the slightest connection to the X-Files. I also know
you've chosen to disregard that fact, but understand one thing: pull
another little trick like this one and you're out. Is that clear?"

More nods. It was like talking to those fucking plastic dogs people
put in their cars.

Walter Skinner sighed. The truth was, he had received phone calls.
Calls informing him that if he couldn't keep his agents on a leash,
other people could, and they would pull it tight, till they choked...

"That'll be all," he growled.

His agents stood up.

"I'm advising you as a friend. Don't take it lightly."

"We never did, sir," answered Scully's low, serious voice.

The AD noticed the way Mulder was looking at him.

He knew.

As the door closed behind them, Skinner felt an acute sense of dread
wash over him. The threats he'd received had been clear.

If they didn't listen, they were dead.

And they never listened.

***

The two agents stood side by side in the elevator. Mulder was casually
brushing some lint off his jacket.

"That wasn't too bad," Scully ventured.

Mulder looked down at her with a slightly disgusted pout and didn't
reply.

"Consider yourself lucky, Mulder, he could have suspended you."

"That's what worries me."

She raised an eyebrow. "What? That he didn't chew your ass as much as
he could have?"

"That was barely a nibble, Scully, and for the record that's my
'skinny' ass from now on."

She looked puzzled. "You sound disappointed."

"The man was afraid, Scully. I'd bet my Knicks T-shirt that there's
someone using every threat in the book on dear old Skinner to make
sure we don't take this investigation any further."

"So you're saying Skinner let you keep your job to make sure you can't
get up to trouble on your own. "

"Probably."

She smirked. "The man's a hopeless optimist."

That earned her a mild scowl. The elevator door opened and they headed
towards the bullpen.

Mulder felt small fingers squeeze his arm briefly, followed by a
whisper:

"And by the way, Mulder, your ass isn't skinny."

His partner brushed past him and headed for her desk.

***

GEORGETOWN, 8 PM

Scully unlocked the door of her apartment and walked in. Her flat was
bathed in the soft shadows created by the street lamps. Mulder had
left the office early, mumbling something about the Gunmen. It was
obvious he was trying to keep his distance.

Using Frohike as a buffer zone...the man had to be pretty desperate.

She removed her coat and padded to the living room, rubbing her right
shoulder. Her mood had changed progressively during the day. The
strange blank calm - which was now so much a part of her that she
could hardly remember feeling anything else - had given way to a
certain restlessness. She wasn't worried or upset or anything, it was
just a certain stiffness in her neck, a certain tension in her body,
as if it were expecting something...

The cold nuzzle of a gun against her throat stopped her train of
thought abruptly.

"Welcome home, honey."

She would have recognised that deceptively boyish voice everywhere...

Alex Krycek.
 
 

-----------
Part Sixteen
-----------

"So, any idea what this thing is?"

Mulder was standing behind Langly, who held the 'Game Boy' device
Mulder had found in the helicopter.

They had managed to switch it on after a little fumbling. Red digital
numbers were now flashing brightly on its little screen.

"Looks like it's indicating a location," Langly pointed out. "Must be
some kind of tracking device, but I've never seen anything like it."

"What location?"

Fiddling with his tie, Byers entered the data on his computer.
"Let's see...uhm...USA...Washington DC...Georgetown."

The four men stared at each other.

"What's in Georgetown?" asked Langly.

"Scully," breathed Mulder, blanching.

"The chip," added Frohike almost matter of factly. Mulder stared at
him. The little troll could be pretty quick on the uptake when he
chose.

"Whatever or whoever it's tracking is currently moving." Langly was
squinting at the numbers on the device's screen through his thick
lenses.

They followed the changing numbers for a while, while Byers dutifully
entered them on his computer.

"Any idea why Scully would head out of Washington at this hour?"
he asked, as four pairs of eyes followed the data scrolling down on
his computer.

Mulder grabbed his coat, and rushed towards the door. "Don't take your
eyes off that thing."

He drove through Washington like a lunatic. Scully would have been
proud.

It all made sense now.

How Krycek and Marita had been expecting them in the cave. How
Strughold had been waiting for them to come out. How the soldiers had
found them so easily in the desert. How in the past their enemies had
always turned up when they had been so sure they'd covered their
tracks. Since the implant had been put back in her neck, Scully had
unwittingly been used as a tracking device.

When Mulder, out of breath, opened the door of her flat and stumbled
on her briefcase, he was forced to face another harsh truth.

His little spy was gone. Again.

***

Scully opened her eyes and turned her head to avoid looking directly
at the bright neon light above her. Dazedly, she took in her
surroundings. She was strapped to a hospital bed in a white room,
windowless, empty but for a small Formica bedside table, and
possessing the distinctive disinfectant smell of a hospital. She
remembered Krycek's gun against her neck and immediately afterwards
the prick of a needle in her hip. Her mouth felt dry and heavy as if
she'd been chewing flour.

She pulled on her restraints and sighed. No way she could free herself
right now.

Some minutes later she heard the door opening and turned her gaze to
see Krycek enter, all dressed in black, looking like some goon out of
a cheap thriller.

She wasted no time with niceties.

"What do you want, Krycek?" she croaked.

She wasn't afraid but she was angry. It was at least one emotion she
could conjure up quite easily.

The man smirked and approached the bed to lean over her. She pulled on
her wrists once more. You never knew.

"It's not so much a question of what I want, as what *you* want,
Dana."

He was leaning very close to her; she could feel his breath on her
cheek. It was distracting. It pissed her off.

"It's Scully to you, you devious little shit. And what I want is to
get out of here."

He smiled at her like a wolf and leaned closer, mere inches from her
face. "Really?"

Her breathing grew more laboured. She felt her skin flush with the
telltale signs of arousal. <What the hell is happening to me?>

Krycek also noticed the change, of course, and fixed her with an
assessing stare which still held a certain dose of amusement.

"You feel it, don't you?"

"What?"

"The Need."

She shook her head.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Krycek lifted his good hand and let his fingertips brush her neck and
trail to the side of her left breast over the green scrubs she was now
wearing.

"Liar."

Scully tried to keep her breathing even, but that mere touch was
inflaming her. She felt like a rubber band about to snap and melt
under the heat of his hands.

Raw lust.

His lips touched her skin, travelled across her cheek, her jaw, the
corner of her mouth, while his hand closed over her breast. Her nipple
was as hard as a diamond stud against his palm. She couldn't move,
couldn't talk to make him stop. Her breathing was quickening despite
her best efforts to keep it under control.

"I could fuck you right now, Agent Scully, and you wouldn't even lift
a finger to object," he whispered against her parted lips. "Not that
you could," he added, running his hand down her arm to gently stroke
the place where the leather strap bit into her wrist.

Her next breath came out as a moan.

His eyes met hers and his smile was almost tender. She hated him for
being right.

"Do you know why?"

"No." She didn't care, didn't want to talk, all she wanted was bury
herself in the smell of his leather jacket.

He moved his lips away from her and instinctively her own head
followed.

He chuckled, and straightened up. "Do you know what the primary
survival instinct of a species is?"

She blinked. Those weren't the words of someone about to engage a
sexual encounter. She willed her breathing back to a less chaotic pace
and tried to shake the feeling that her nerves had coiled themselves
into one giant tuning fork humming its need for sex. It was easier now
he wasn't so close.

He waited for her to compose herself and patiently reiterated his
question.

"What is the primordial urge of any animal?"

That was an easy one, even for her lust-addled brain. "Reproduction,"
she offered.

"There you go."

"I don't..."

"When you were down the cave in Tunisia, Scully, you blacked out under
a flow of information not intended for human minds. It was the only
defence mechanism your brain found to keep you sane. It did understand
one message, however, probably because it was the most universal one,
the most powerful: the need to procreate. I bet Mulder was a very
lucky man when you woke up, wasn't he?"

She bit her lip.

"Wasn't he?"

"None of your business, Krycek," she growled.

Alex threw his head back and laughed. It was an honest laugh, so
unlike him.

"So you're telling me some sentient oil is pushing me to...to mate."
Her tone suggested that pigs would go skydiving the day she would even
consider believing this.

He pinned her with a gaze which held no gentleness. "Precisely...which
is ironic considering I'd have more chance getting your bedside table
pregnant."

"You - bastard..."

The man held her hard blazing stare, gauging her reaction. "Anger.
Very good. It's usually the first one to return."

"The first-?"

"Have you experienced a strange emotional numbness lately?"

She stared at him, opened her mouth to reply and changed her mind.
Closing her eyes, she relaxed back on the bed.

"I don't see why I should answer your questions, Krycek."

"So that I can help you."

Her eyes snapped back open, wide and furious. She raised herself as
much as she could on the pillow, not caring that leather was digging
painfully into her wrists.

"HELP ME? You break into my home, point a gun to my head, drug me,
kidnap me, and you have the gall to tell me it's for my own good?
Well, fuck you, Krycek!"

There was a single knock at the door. Krycek shrugged at her before
going to open it.

"What can I say? You're too rare a specimen to waste."

Scully squirmed on her bed, yanking at her restraints. "A SPECIMEN?
Krycek, God help you if I ever..."

She forgot all about her threats when she saw the man approaching her.

"Good evening, Agent Scully." The man shot her one of his blinding
my-toothpaste-is-fantastic smiles.

Scully could only gape at him.

Ali.

The Tuareg was dressed in a white lab coat and was pushing a steel
trolley with various medical instruments on top. He set it by the bed
and turned to his companion.

"So?"

"The usual; heightened sexual drive and aggressiveness."

Ali nodded, grabbing a pair of latex gloves and donning them.

"Could someone tell me what the hell is going on?"

Krycek shot her an irritated glance. She was no picnic, and even his
patience had its limits.

"I tried, but you won't listen to me."

"Because you're full of shit, Krycek!" she sneered.

She saw his fist clench against his jacket and heard Ali chuckle
softly.

"Feisty, feisty, feisty..."

"Can I ask what your role in all this is, Ali?"

The Tuareg was fiddling with instruments on his trolley. "I am the
family doctor." He still had a strong accent when he spoke. At least
not everything about him had been fake. He came closer to her, put a
sphyg around her arm to measure her blood pressure and started
pumping. "I must ask you to cooperate, dear colleague."

"Cooperate with what?"

"I need a blood sample from you."

"What for?"

"To check your endorphin and adrenalin levels."

"No."

Ali sighed and stopped his work. He brought his face close to hers. He
was handsome, very handsome. Once again she felt her body respond, and
cursed herself for it.

"We've no time to play around, Agent Scully. I'm asking you because it
will be easier for both of us if you let me do my job. There are too
few of you out there, and I can't afford to lose data because you
decide to throw a temper tantrum. I'm willing to answer your
questions, so keep the attitude for Agent Mulder, okay?"

"Could you stand further away, please?"

The young man smirked and complied, resuming his task. "Of course.
Wouldn't want to trespass on Agent Mulder's private hunting grounds,
would we, Alex?"

Krycek shrugged.

"What did you mean by 'too few of us'?" asked Scully, seething at
Ali's last comment, but resolute to ignore it.

"People who are the bridge between our race and the next. The species
the colonists have been waiting for, to use as permanent hosts."

Scully was tempted to scoff at this theory as she had done with
Mulder, but tamped down the urge to do so. <Gather as much information
as you can; you will always be able to argue about it later.>

"You see," Ali continued, "We suspect that the next species will share
a complete psychic connection with the colonists. You suffer from an
embryonic form of this connection while retaining most of your major
human faculties. If we manage to disconnect you completely, that means
we might be able to find a way to fight back, to preserve the humanity
of the new race when the time comes."

"I don't feel any connection."

"Oh, but it's there, believe me, even if you're not aware of it yet."

"How can you be so sure?"

Ali didn't reply immediately but instead read her blood pressure, made
notes, removed the sphyg and checked her pupils. He then stood up to
prepare a syringe for a blood sample.

"Because, Agent Scully, it is obvious your behaviour has been altered.
And don't bother arguing with me on that. I was there in the desert
and I have ears. I know what happened when you woke up. I know that
you killed our prisoner in cold blood, and I suspect that you've been
wondering why it is you don't feel an ounce of guilt about it, why you
feel so good, so detached from the rest of the world."

He held the hypodermic in front of her.

"Now the question is: do you want to stay like that? Do you want to
become one of Them?"

"I don't believe there is such a thing as 'Them'."

"You don't need to believe in a plague to catch it, Doctor Scully."

"And why would I want to change if it makes me feel so good, as you
say?"

"Because it's not who you are, and you know it. You want to care,
Dana."

Minutes flew as Scully pinned Ali down with a hard look of almost
hypnotic quality. Finally she closed her eyes and turned her head away
from him on the pillow.

"Do it," she murmured.

Ali reached for her arm and raised his needle.

***

Mulder had been driving all night with his cell phone tucked under his
chin, following the directions the Gunmen gave him at random
intervals. Tension and lack of sleep were making him light-headed and
he knew he was going to have to stop very soon. He would be of no use
to Scully if he ended up wrapped around one of the many trees of the
forest he was currently passing through.

He was heading west. He'd already crossed West Virginia and was
currently driving through Ohio; if he kept on like this he'd soon hit
southern Indiana.

His phone rang one more time and he answered it.

"Mulder?" Frohike's voice sounded cautious.

The agent's fingers tightened on the wheel.
<Bad news.>

"What?"

"The signal's gone."

He straightened up on his seat.

"What do you mean, 'gone'?"

"Meaning, the device stopped displaying directions. All we have now is
a line of flashing dots."

Mulder pulled the car sharply to the side of the road, gravel
crunching under the tyres. The sky was glowing dull grey over the high
trees; dawn was near.

He dreaded the answer to his next question but he had to know.

"Any idea what this means, Frohike?"

Silence. His friend was hesitating.

"Frohike?"

He heard hushed voices arguing briefly at the other end of the line.

"Er...it could mean that we are outside the range in which the chip
can pick up a proper signal..."

"Or?"

He heard the little man draw a deep breath.

"Or...that the chip stopped sending signals, that it has
been...deactivated."

Mulder leant his forehead on the steering wheel. The chip was
activated by brainwaves. Logically it would stop working when
brainwaves ceased.

He didn't need the implications of Frohike's reluctant information
spelt out to him.

She could be dead.

***

HUMAN CREDENTIALS (17/24)

KEYWORDS: Awakening.

-----------
Part Seventeen
-----------

Scully was staring blankly at the wall. Her nose was blocked, her eyes
were swollen and itchy and she couldn't feel her legs. She'd been here
only four days, but it seemed like a lifetime.

To say the last days had been difficult would be a gross
understatement.

On the second day, Ali had turned up with a hypodermic and an
apologetic look, telling her that the PET scan she'd grudgingly agreed
to undergo showed aberrant activity in certain areas of her brain, and
that her blood samples contained some striking abnormalities.

He'd said he had to act before it was too late.

Despite her outraged protests, he'd injected her with - she learned
later - a cocktail based on catecholamines. To begin with it had been
fairly pleasant. She'd felt quite euphoric, sated.

But it didn't last. Soon all her muscles grew taut and her body
started to convulse, her spine arching off the bed like an electric
arc, as if she were under the onslaught of a poweful orgasm - minus
the pleasure. It felt as if her body was generating its own
electricity and was sending it to explode in her head. It could have
been bearable if it had happened once, maybe twice.

It lasted 8 hours.

Almost as soon as one seizure stopped another would begin, only
minutes later. After five hours she was crying and begging them to
make it stop. Pride can be such a remote concept when you think your
entire muscle tissues are about to rip themselves to shreds. She had
felt blood filling her mouth as she bit her lip to keep from
screaming. After that, Alex had pried her jaws opened and inserted a
piece of wood between her teeth. Bless the little motherfucker's
heart.

When the spasms finally receded, her brain felt frayed like a sponge
left too long in bleach, and a dull pain was throbbing along her optic
nerves. Her vision was blurred and her body was shaking with the
strain imposed on her over abused muscles. Ali covered her shivering
form with several blankets and switched off the light. She welcomed
the darkness and fell into a fitful slumber filled with dreams plagued
by dark and unnameable entities hovering above her, whispering a
hellish lullaby.

On the third day she woke up feeling as frail and vulnerable as a
newborn kitten. Ali came and removed her restraints; she was too weak
to move anyway, let alone escape. She curled up into a ball, refusing
food or drink, and slept most of the day.

When she opened her eyes again there was an IV line in her left arm. A
surge of anger blazed through her unexpectedly and she yanked the
offending needle out of her arm. She slipped from under the covers to
stand up and realised - too late - that her legs wouldn't support her.
She fell off the bed in an undignified heap and started to pummel the
floor in frustration, yelling a stream of colourful and sexually
explicit insults to the walls, the bed, and the universe at large like
the true navy brat she was.

Probably alerted by the commotion, Alex came in and lifted her in his
arms. Oblivious to the blows she redirected to his chest and the
highly audible aspersions she was making on his mother's career
choices, he put her back in bed without a word and left again.

She felt so raw and hurt inside, her psyche bleeding as if scraped
with coarse sandpaper. Her emotions were back all right, but tangled
in a messy web threatening to overwhelm her, to drive her insane. She
gave up the fight for control, burying her face in the pillows and
starting to cry.

She cried for her sister, for Emily, for the women in Allentown; she
cried for the stranger she killed, cried for Mulder's bruised soul.
She cried for herself, for all the things she could never change, for
the regrets, the shattered hopes. She cried for hours in long loud
raking sobs for all the things she'd ever held back, until exhaustion
pushed her into a dreamless sleep.

***

The door opened and she paused in her scrutiny of the opposite wall to
watch Ali enter, smiling as ever.

"And how are we this morning?"

The look she shot advised him to shove his doctor/patient routine in a
dark and very tight place.

Ali sighed good-naturedly and approached the bed to check her vitals.

"I can't feel my legs." Her voice was hoarse from having put such
strain on her vocal cords over the past two days.

The young Tuareg looked up at her. "It'll pass; it's only a temporary
side effect."

"It better be." She didn't need the use of her legs to ruin the
orthodontic dream he was flaunting at her.

Ali scribbled some notes on his pad - ignoring her glare - and sat by
her side.

"You gave us quite a show yesterday," the young doctor remarked
conversationally as he checked her pulse.

Scully bit her damaged lip and looked away.

Ali patted her arm reassuringly. "Don't be embarrassed, it's a
necessary phase. It means the treatment is working."

"I felt better before."

"No, you didn't *feel* before. The lack of emotional response was
fooling you into a fake sentiment of well-being." He secured her IV
line and, seeing her sceptical gaze, added, "I know you feel like hell
right now: humanity reasserting itself is not a pleasant process; but
believe me it's worth it."

His intense determination to convince her reminded her of her partner.

Mulder.

She'd been gone for four days now. How would he be coping? He was
probably reliving her abduction all over again.

A wave of sadness washed through her. Ali raised questioning eyes at
her.

"Something's wrong?"

"Mulder. I need to contact him."

The young man shook his head. "I can't let you do that, Dana. I'm
sorry but we just can't take the risk. Mulder has always been under
close surveillance by the Syndicate's minions, even more so since you
broke into Strughold's compounds in Sahara. Allowing you to get in
touch with him would lead them here immediately."

"How do you know they weren't watching me as well? That they didn't
follow you here?"

Ali's face became suddenly closed off. "It was a risk we were willing
to take."

"Why?"

"I told you, you're important to us."

Scully sharply leaned back on the pillow with irritation.

"Oh, that's right, I'm a *specimen*."

Ali sighed. "You need to rest." He began to stand up but felt Scully's
hand close around his wrist.

"Wait. How many?"

"What?"

"How many? Like me."

The young doctor fixed her with his warm dark gaze, apparently
debating whether to answer. Scully's grip tightened on his wrist.

"Tell me."

Ali sighed and gave up. "Twelve. That we know of. And that's including
you."

"What happened to them?"

"We only had access to seven people. Out of those seven, five
underwent the treatment. You're number six."

"And?"

Ali pulled his hand out of her grip and stepped back. "Listen, I don't
think it's the best time to talk about this..."

"Tell. Me. What. Happened." Despite her gravely voice, her words were
scalpel-sharp enunciated.

The Tuareg came back, sat again next to her on the bed, drew a deep
breath and pinned her with a 'don't-say-you-didn't-ask-for-it' gaze.

"All right. Three committed suicide within a week of receiving the
treatment. One went insane. Only one so far seems to have made a full
recovery."

Ali saw the young woman's fingers clench over the blanket, the only
outward sign that the news affected her. Her features were set in a
carefully composed mask.

"That's not a high success rate."

Ali shrugged. "33%, doesn't seem such a bad result to me."

"But that's assuming I make it."

He smiled at her. "I have no doubt about that. You're strong, stronger
than the others. They couldn't even manage to articulate a whole
sentence at this stage."

She didn't return his smile but eyed him coldly. "You had no right to
put me through this without my consent."

"I was trying to save your life. Your *human* life."

"Could have fooled me."

"Believe me, this treatment was the lesser of two evils. Remind me to
introduce you to number seven when you're feeling better."

"The one who wasn't treated?"

"Precisely."

"What's with him...or her?"

"It, rather...but that's enough talk for today. Get some rest." Ali
stood up and headed towards the door.

"But..."

"I said 'enough'. Doctor's orders."

Sulking, she watched him leave the room. She lay back down on her
pillow with a sigh and fell asleep within minutes.

***

Scully had been gone for a week now. After losing her track, Mulder
had been to every police station in the area where he'd lost the scent
to personally report his partner missing.

South Indiana police got a good earful of Spooky Mulder at his most
frantic. They loved every minute of it. In fact they loved his
performance so much that one exasperated soul had called Skinner to
inform him of the situation.

Skinner had ordered his agent back to Washington in his best Marines
tone and filed an APB on Agent Scully. When Mulder had stormed into
his boss' office with his wrinkled suit and bloodshot eyes, Skinner
had declared him unfit for work and sent him home. The bullpen staff
had ducked for cover when the AD office's door had slammed with a
force which shook the entire floor ominously.

Skinner considered himself lucky that the hinges were the only
casualties.

***

Mulder stared at the line of flashing dots. He'd taken the device back
from the Gunmen despite their protests. The object was the only link
he had with Scully and he'd be damned if he let it out of his sight.
He'd left it on his coffee table on top of an old National Geographic
and next to a bottle of whisky. He needed the liquor to make himself
stop pacing like a lion in a cage.

On the third day he'd tried to go back to the Bureau to have a word
with Spender, convinced that the Smoking man was behind all this and
that he might be able to pry some information from the little weasel.
Unfortunately Security had received strict orders not to let him in
and when he insisted had thrown him out without ceremony.

He'd called Skinner to complain, but the AD had told him that in his
present state he was persona non grata in the J. Edgar Hoover
Building, before assuring him that he would inform him as soon as they
had the tiniest hint of a lead.

A week went by and the only information Skinner was able to give was
that Agent Scully had vanished without a trace and that he had taken
the liberty to call her mother. Mulder didn't even want to begin to
think about Margaret's reaction to the news.

Several times Mulder had suppressed the urge to smash the device
against the wall and had settled for his glass instead. The wallpaper
on the wall opposite his sofa was stained and sticky with whisky.

A knock on his door roused him from his alcohol-induced stupor. He
regretfully detached his gaze from the red dots blinking mockingly at
him and padded wearily to answer it.

"Gee, Mulder, you're a mess!"

Frohike stood in the doorway taking in his friend's unshaven, rumpled
appearance. The little man wrinkled his nose.

"When was the last time you had a shower? You smell like a drunk
tank."

"What do you want, Frohike?" rasped Mulder, retreating to his couch.

"I may have something for you."

Mulder lifted his head sharply. "What?"

"Well, since we couldn't find any trace of a signal, we decided to
look for the opposite." The little man removed a map from his pocket
and laid it flat on the table.

"What do you mean?"

"We ran a radar check of the area where Scully disappeared...and came
up with this." He pointed at the map. "See this circle here? Five-mile
radius. No signals."

"So?"

"God, Mulder, stop the booze, your neurones are guacamole! No signal
at all! No electric lines, no TV or radio frequency, no power
generator, nothing!"

Mulder leaned forward and traced the circle with his index finger.
"Someone's screening the area."

"Exactly. Someone who's got something to hide."

Mulder jumped from his couch, a gleam of hope in his eyes. "Let's go."

Frohike lifted his hands. "Nuh-uh. First things first - you shower,
mister. I ain't crossing two states in a van with you smelling like
too many armpits dipped in J&B."

"A van?"

"The boys are waiting downstairs. We're all coming along. You might
need our expertise."

Mulder shot him his first smile since Scully had disappeared, and ran
to the bathroom, shouting over his shoulder:

"Remind me to kiss you, Frohike."

"I'll take a rain check and give it to the delicious Agent Scully!"

***

Krycek was in the main control room working on his prosthetic arm with
a small screwdriver.

Ali lifted his eyes from the pile of papers messily scattered on his
desk, stretched his arms above his head and poured himself a glass of
tea from the iron kettle which seemed to accompany him everywhere. His
gaze drifted towards his companion.

"What's the matter with your arm?"

"I think I busted a joint when I lifted Scully."

Ali grinned. "She can't be that heavy."

"No, but she was struggling and my arm is not harpy-proof."

"You quite like her, don't you?" Teased the young Tuareg.

Alex shrugged, still fiddling with his arm. "What can I say? She's my
oldest enemy."

"Before Mulder?"

"Mulder is not my enemy."

"*He* obviously doesn't know that."

"We use different methods to achieve the same goals. He'll realise
that one day."

"What about Scully?"

"Scully just hates me."

"For any special reason?"

"We both want the same thing."

"Revenge?"

Krycek shook his head with a wry smile. "Mulder's ass."

Ali's unrestrained laughter boomed against the walls of the small room
but was suddenly cut short by a series of urgent bleeps coming from
the control panel linked to Scully's heart monitor. A security camera
had been installed and both men rushed simultaneously to look at the
screen. The form on the bed was lying very still but her heart rate
was increasing by the second.

"Here we go again!" muttered Ali as he flew out of the room.

----------
Part eighteen
-----------
 

"I crash and I burn, maybe someday you'll learn,
 I'm only human on the inside.
 I stumble, I fall, baby, I do it all..."

          - The Pretenders - Human -
 
 

Scared. To death.

She was breathing in sharp little pants, blood pounding behind her
temples, wide-awake, terrified. It was the childhood fear of the
elusive monster under the bed all over again, increased exponentially
by an adult experience of terror. In the grown up world of
nightmares, monsters did not stay under the bed. They climbed in with
you, straddled your hips and weighed on your chest, their cold breath
wetly chilling your neck. They curled their heavy hands around your
throat, feeding on the fear echoed by the quickening of your pulse.

Invisible but so tangible.

This one was going to rip her throat open, she was sure of it.

She had the utter conviction that, were she to move an inch, she would
die. She'd never experienced that feeling with such a perfect clarity
before, not even in the last days of her cancer, when she thought
there was no hope left. Death had been hovering in her hospital room
but she had refused to acknowledge it. And Death had never been so
bold as to climb in her bed without permission.

But monsters had no manners.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the doorknob turn.

She screamed.

Ali burst in the room and rushed to her side, taking hold of her
shoulders.

"It's OK, calm down, it's OK..."

She was shaking like a leaf, her body felt cold and sticky with sweat
under the thin cotton of her scrubs.

"Something...something...wanted to kill me...it was there..."

"Shhh...it's all right. There's nothing here but you and me.
It's only a panic attack. Happens a lot afterwards." He told her in
soothing tones while rubbing her back. She sagged against him,
fighting hard to get air into lungs and losing the battle. Her heart
was pounding against her ribcage like a squash ball struck by a
hyperactive cocaine addict.

"Can't breathe..." she gasped.

"It'll pass. You need to relax." He produced a hypodermic from his lab
coat pocket. "Here, let me give you this."

"What...is it?"

"Just a mild myorelaxant. Lie back down. We can't allow letting your
heart strain too much after what we just put it through."

He gently pushed on her shoulders and she complied. She would have
agreed to a morphine shot at that point to get rid of the oppressive
feeling crushing her chest.

When he was done, the young doctor patted her arm.

"There. This should do the trick in no time."

He was right. Seconds later, she was already breathing more easily.
Ali went into the small adjoining bathroom and returned with a cloth.
He leaned down to wipe her damp brow, but she snatched the washcloth
from his hand, before he had time to reach her face.

"I can do it." She snapped, visibly annoyed at being fussed over.

"As you wish." He stepped back doing his best to hide an amused smirk,
remembering how Krycek had described her as a control freak. He'd
naively thought his friend had been exaggerating a little.

"I can't stand this room anymore." She said, holding the cloth to her
forehead.

Ali nodded in sympathy. "You'll be out soon."

She eyed him sceptically. "Are you saying you're going to let me go?"

"You're not a prisoner."

"No kidding."

Ali sighed. That woman must have been crossbred with at least half a
dozen mules.

"Listen, as soon as you're fully recovered, you'll be free to go. You
may not be aware of this, lady, but your presence is a threat to all
of us."

"I didn't ask to come here."

Ali muttered an expletive in his native tongue and in three long
strides reached the intercom by the door.

"Alex? I need a wheelchair."

***

There are some times when you just want to punch people's lights out,
hoping that they will see sense when words alone don't seem to be
getting through. Frohike was thinking that now was one of those times.

"Mulder if this is the place, it's probably heavily guarded. They'll
be on us like a ton of bricks if we step any closer." The four men
were standing behind the rusty gate leading to the factory main
entrance.

"I can't see any guards."

"Well if this is a secret facility, they are not going to advertise it
by posting guards outside are they?" The little man growled at him.

They'd assumed that the originating point of whatever was used to
create a radar shield had to be somewhere near the centre of the
circle Frohike had drawn on the map. A few questions to the locals in
a nearby town had confirmed that a few months back, the old tyre
factory had been bought by a government agency - which one they
couldn't say - but that soon after unmarked trucks had been seen
heading towards it. Still, the few people who had been curious enough
to wander in the area had come back saying that the place still looked
as deserted as it had been for the past ten years.

Mulder looked at the ugly structure of dusty concrete and corrugated
steel and groaned in frustration. Frohike was right. But he still felt
the urge to throw caution to the wind and rush inside the place,
shooting everyone or everything that would stand in his way.

"I think we should wait for the cover of night." said Byers.

Langly nodded and lowered the pair of military binoculars he'd been
holding against his glasses. "He's right. And you know what Mulder?
These guys don't need guards." He handed him the piece of equipment.
"Not with the shitload of cameras poking out from under the rooftop."

Mulder pressed the binoculars against his nose.

"This is the place, guys. She's here."

"Maybe, but a dead knight is of no use to his betrothed, Mulder,"
pointed out Frohike.

The agent sighed and rubbed his neck.

"All right, we wait."

Frohike gave him a playful slap on the back. "Good boy."

"And Scully's not my 'betrothed'."

"Is that so? Am I to understand that the valiant Agent Mulder finally
faced the ire of Sir Walter and took the flower of the fair Agent
Scully?" The little man leered at him.

"None of your fucking business, Frohike."

"I take that as a yes."

***

Krycek arrived pushing the wheelchair. Ali turned around and
approached him.

"Thanks."

"Where are you taking her?"

"She needs to be convinced that we did the right thing."

Scully noticed Krycek's shoulders tense, as well as a sudden
uneasiness in the two men's stare.

"You don't have to come along, Alex."

Alex shook his head and produced a half-hearted grin which closed like
a wince.

"No. It's OK. I'll go. Besides you need to go and check Dimtri. He
tried to hurt himself again."

Ali's face darkened in concern. "What did he do this time?"

"Enucleation with a coffee spoon. Faye stopped him just in time."

The young doctor let out a tired sigh. "Bless the ever efficient
Faye."

Both men turned toward Scully simultaneously. She couldn't decipher
the look they both threw at her, but she didn't like it.

"Who's Dimtri?" She asked.

"The unlucky lab rat." Answered Krycek.

Ali shook his head, took a few steps towards the door and hesitated.

"Alex, this can wait."

"Get the hell out of here, Doc."

Ali pursed his lips and shrugged before leaving the room.

Krycek wheeled the chair by Scully's bed.

"Let's go."

"Where are we going?"

"Pay our respect to number seven."

He lifted her from the bed and helped her into the chair, laying a
blanket over her bare legs with unexpected gentleness. They exited the
bedroom and Alex wheeled her through a labyrinth of grey corridors.
Scully glanced at him over her shoulder.

"What?" He asked.

"Nothing. I just don't like having you behind me, Krycek."

"It's an acquired taste."

"I highly doubt it."

He stopped the wheelchair in front of a steel panelled elevator, and
leaned over her to press the call button.

"Do you need hard evidence, Agent Scully?" He breathed against her
cheek.

Her hand shot up, closed on his right ear and twisted it painfully.
Krycek backed away with a yell and a Russian curse which was probably
X-rated.

"Next time, I won't aim for your ear, Krycek. I advise you to keep
your distance if you want your *evidence* to remain intact."

The elevator doors opened and Krycek pushed her chair roughly inside,
still rubbing his ear.

"Don't push your luck, Dana." He growled.

She raised a smug eyebrow and patted the sides of her wheelchair.

"Seems to me you're the one doing the pushing, *Alex*."

***

They entered a room, the furthest wall dominated by a large two-way
mirror. Krycek wheeled Scully in front of it. Beyond the glass panel
she could look into another room, nearly as bare as her own. Sitting
cross-legged on a cot, was a woman. From where she stood Scully could
only see her profile, half hidden by stringy blonde hair. As if
sensing their presence, she lifted her head and turned it slightly
towards them.

Scully's recollections of their trip to the cave were hazy at best,
but she remembered catching a glimpse of the same woman before
everything went blank. The one Mulder had called Marita. Only now did
it strike her that she and Mulder had seemed to know each other
already.

Whatever that meant.

Looking at her face, Scully blinked. Something was wrong. She tried to
stare, but couldn't quite focus. Marita's features seemed to be
blurring and changing as if something under her skin were trying to
make itself known but hadn't quite grasped the hang of it - like some
morphing program gone erratic. The only constant were her eyes, which
shone like two smooth pieces of coal. Entirely black.

"That's the woman I saw in the cave," she told Krycek, "who is she?"

Krycek shot her a look of surprise quickly followed by a vicious
smirk.

"I see our dear Mulder has been keeping things from you
again."

Her pale blue eyes went liquid with hurt before crystallising into icy
chips of contempt. It didn't take long for her to know exactly what he
was doing, and why he was doing it. Alex could never resist picking at
other people's scabs, especially not when Mulder had been involved in
the initial wound.

"Spit it out, Krycek."

The man shrugged.

"Marita Covarubias, former UN representative, Syndicate spy...and
Mulder's own personal *informant*." His last word couldn't have been
more laced with disdain if he'd said 'whore'.

He saw the muscles jump in tiny jerks behind her skin as she gritted
her teeth and wondered what was making her the most furious, the
thought that Mulder might have slept with Marita or that he never
bothered to mention her existence. Knowing Scully, it was probably the
latter which pissed her off the most.

"What happened to her?"

"She's been in close contact with the oil too many times, had several
'episodes' like yours. It became increasingly difficult to bring her
back...and every time we did, she was a little less like us and a
little more like them."

"Why wasn't she treated?"

Scully was surprised to witness an unusual cocktail of pain and guilt
flash in her captor's eyes. And when he spoke, his voice was just a
little too detached to be genuine.

"She always refused it, said she could control it, that we needed the
information to fight back. It was her choice."

"But you didn't need her approval, after all you didn't ask for mine."

Krycek moved her wheelchair closer to the glass panel.

"Look at her Scully, it's too late, she's already changing. We had no
idea this would happen until a few days ago."

"But you let it happen. You let this woman sacrifice herself for your
goddamn cause." She snapped.

Her chair spun around so quickly she thought she was going to topple
over. She found herself under the heat of Krycek's scorching glare,
leaning over her with his good hand gripping the arm of her
wheelchair.

"*OUR* goddamn cause. This whole fucking planet's cause!" He yelled at
her. He balled his fist and slammed it on the armrest, sending her
chair rolling backwards abruptly. Scully managed to grab the wheels
and stop the motion just before hitting the wall.

Krycek was staring through the glass, clenching and unclenching his
fist, his breathing coming in short hisses through his nose.

"What is happening to her?" She queried in the soft, conciliatory
voice she usually reserved for children. A hurt Krycek was an
unpredictable one. Better not to up the ante.

He didn't answer immediately, still staring blankly in the other room.
 When he finally did, his voice was toneless.

"She's developing strange abilities. She says her body is trying to
readjust itself to fit her new perception of herself. Don't even ask
me how such a thing is possible."

This would explain the strange sensations she'd experienced in front
of mirrors. A shiver jolted icily down her spine. The pieces of the
puzzle were coming together in a way she didn't like. Because it
bluntly showed that the only liar here, had been herself. Ever since
she'd categorically refused to believe that she'd been infected with
more than a freak virus in Antarctica. Ever since she'd pegged her
strange behaviour on posttraumatic stress.

The woman in the room was indeed infected - not by a new virus - but
by a new parasitical life form. Where it really came from was
irrelevant at this point. It was a complex, dangerous and powerful
organism which preyed on the human mind before assimilating it as one
of its own.

It wasn't something she could refuse to face anymore.

It was something to fight.

"Can you talk to her?" She asked Krycek after a while, a renewed
determination clipping her tone. The man turned to stare at her with a
hint of surprise. He'd obviously noticed the change.

"When her mind is not completely focused on surfing the 'oilnet', yes,
we can. But it's becoming an increasingly rare occurrence."

"You mean she can communicate with them from here?!"

"That's what she says."

"So they know where she is."

"That's a possibility."

"Then you're not safe here."

He snorted at this.

"I see you are beginning to have a good insight of our situation."

He started wheeling her outside the room. Further down the corridor
she spotted a group of men and women in lab coats talking in a
doorway. She had been tempted to think that Ali and Krycek were the
only souls running the place.

"So this is a research centre?"

"I guess you could call it that, yes."

"Ali said something about preventing a 'psychic connection' with the
colonists. Is this what those people are working on? Trying to prevent
cases like Marita?"

"Mostly."

"Any success so far?"

"Well, you had first hand experience of the Treatment, and you're the
proof we're beginning to get the hang of it. But what we really want
to do is to prevent the 'connection' from happening at all. The
problem, you see, is that we have yet to find out who's susceptible
and why."

"No common denominator?"

"Not as far as we know." As they neared the elevator, the doors slid
opened and a man stepped out, flipping pages on a clipboard. Alex
quickened his pace.

A hand reached out from inside the car to keep the doors from closing.

Suddenly, Scully felt herself being sharply pulled backwards and heard
Krycek tensed voice say precipitately: "We'll take the next."

But it was already too late. Too late to prevent her from seeing the
person standing inside the elevator.

It was a young woman in a lab coat, a tall and slender blonde in her
early twenties with her hair tucked into a no-nonsense French twist.

But it wasn't her figure nor her clothes which made Scully's eyes turn
grey with shock.

It was her face.

The woman's green gaze settled on the agent and her finely arched
eyebrows raised in surprise. Her eyes lifted, taking the texture of
granite as she pinned Krycek with a hard stare.

"Number six?" She asked coldly.

"Faye..."

"Why didn't you tell me, Alex?"

When no answer came, the woman released the door, stepped outside the
lift and greeted Scully with a curt nod.

"Mother."
 

-----------
Part Nineteen
-----------

"I'm a mother
And I fake like a mother
I understand time and it isn't on my side."
          -I'm A Mother - The Pretenders -
 

<Mother.>

The woman on the wheelchair closed her eyes and clamped her lips
between her teeth to keep them from trembling.

"Make her go away."

Her choked whisper was laced with desperate panic as she blindly
reached behind her for Krycek's prosthetic arm, her fingers digging
into the unyielding plastic as if she intended to meld her prints
there.

Krycek shot Faye a warning look and brushed past her to summon the
elevator.

Scully didn't say a word as Krycek wheeled her to her room, nor as he
helped her back into her bed. She turned her back to him, fists
curling under her chin as if she was trying to hold onto something.

Her sanity probably.

He left and made his way back to the control room. Ali was going to be
furious. Since Scully's arrival they had planned everything to make
sure that 'never the twain should meet'. It was the reason they had
installed the agent in the remotest part of the facility, the reason
they'd been the only two people to take care of her during the
procedures. Visiting Marita should have been safe, as Faye wasn't
assigned to this level today.

It was unfortunate.

As much as he liked to toy with the nerves of the little redhead,
Scully was simply in no condition for such an encounter; Ali had been
adamant about that. The newly treated subjects were psychologically
fragile and Faye's existence was not the sort of news likely to hasten
Scully's recovery.

During her abduction, Faye had been created from a cell sample taken
from her body. Chromosomes had been removed from the cells, engineered
using synthetic DNA and injected into one of her ova that had been
emptied of its own chromosomes. This cell had been induced to multiply
and the resulting embryo to undergo accelerated growth.

Because Faye had been made from the genetic material of an ordinary
body cell of Scully's, she was born with chromosomes already more than
thirty years old; ageing had been abnormally rapid. She had had a mere
two years to learn the basic human training of a child before she
reached her emotionally retarded adulthood. She was intelligent -
frighteningly so even - the genetic engineering had ensured that, and
she had had a chip implanted in her neck at adolescence so that
transfer of information could begin. She'd acquired her mother's
medical knowledge through this medium, and she'd learnt to be thorough
and efficient but very little else. Chips conveyed data but not the
memories attached to their acquisition: she knew that the best way to
disable the replication of an alien retro-virus was to keep the
infected body cold, for example, but wasn't aware of the race against
time which had led Scully to this discovery, and could not have
appreciated the emotions involved.

Raw facts were all she ever got from her mother. And at the time she
didn't even know she had one.

She was a lab rat, a creature kept alive and experimented upon to test
the validity of various cloning/hybridisation programmes such as the
Kurts and the Emilies. Deriving her DNA mainly from her mother, she
was much more clone-like than the Emilies, despite her blonde hair and
eye colour which were just engineered marker characteristics, a proof
that the synthetic DNA had been successfully incorporated. Within her
cells, replicas of carefully chosen alien genes provided templates for
their alien products, as scientists watched her for effects on
physiology or behaviour.

A handy source of non-human protein.

They had found her during a scavenging mission to a Roush lab in North
Dakota. She'd been given work there as a lab assistant - under close
surveillance, needless to say. When they had taken possession of the
place and got rid of the guards, it hadn't taken much to convince her
to follow them and embrace their cause. She possessed her mother's
sharp sense of justice, of what was right or wrong, and had seen
enough during her short life to understand that the people who created
her had only their own selfish interest in mind.

She had not been brought into this world out of love, and was
perfectly aware of that.

Faye kept to herself and had no concept of such things as small talk,
addressing people only when strictly necessary. Faye didn't grow up
within a family, was never told bedtime stories, never learnt any
songs, never had any hugs. She didn't quite know how to interact with
the other members of the team, coming across as a little too blunt, a
little too cold, a little too honest.

And she never smiled. It unnerved people.

The IQ of Einstein, but the emotional development of a fridge.

Alex was reaching the control room when Ali burst out of it, a
panicked look on his face.

"They found us! We have to leave!"

Krycek rushed into the room and saw the soldiers surrounding the
compound on the security cameras. He slammed his fist onto a red
button set at the edge of the control panel and a deafening alarm
resonated inside the room, echoed by dozens others along the
corridors.

The two men started to run.
 

***

"What the fuck...?" Frohike ducked for cover and watched his friends
do the same as four black helicopters surged out from behind the
rooftop of the old tyre factory in a flurry of madly slashing rotors
and flying dust.

They had been spending the afternoon debating about the best way to
reach the disused staff entrance they had spotted at the back of the
building without being seen by the security cameras, when the roar of
several engines had alerted them. They watched from behind thick
bushes as the helicopters landed and several commando soldiers jumped
out of them and surrounded the place. *They* sure weren't bothering to
wait till nightfall.

"Mulder, we have to get the hell out of here!" whispered Frohike
urgently.

"No!"

"Mulder..." Byers pleaded softly.

The agent shook his head. "If we move they'll see us. They don't
expect to find anybody outside, so they won't look for us as long as
we don't move."

Langly buried his neck deeper between his lanky shoulder blades,
muttering: "I hate it when he's right."

Three soldiers were now breaking down the back door and within seconds
had disappeared inside the place.

"This is weird, Mulder. I thought the guys at this place *worked* for
the military," whispered Byers.

"So did I. Perhaps we stumbled upon the black sheep of the family."

When the place had cleared, Mulder stood up.

"Go back to the van," he ordered. "Don't wait for me. I'll call you."

"Mulder! You're not serious, you can't go in there!"

But the agent wasn't listening any longer; he'd already started to
crawl his way towards the factory.

He managed to reach the door without being noticed, and slipped
inside. He could hear the muffled sounds of the soldiers running ahead
of him. Following them at a safe distance, he saw a handful of them
disappear through a door on his left, waited a bit and cautiously
pushed the door open, gun in hand. He found himself staring down a
stairwell and made his way down the steps. A minute later he reached a
security door with its digital keypad torn from the socket, hanging
from it by a jumble of coloured wires. Flattening himself against the
doorjamb, he peeked through the slight opening. He heard gunshots and
scuffles in the distance and chose to head for the lower levels.

On a hunch.

The stairs ended in front of another door similar to the previous one.
He withdrew a small magnetic card from his pocket. Time to see if
'Sesame', as Frohike proudly called it, was really worth the money
they'd given those Japanese hackers. He slid the card through the slot
and watched the red light...remain red.

<Sesame my ass.>

He was about to try again when he heard a click. He flattened his palm
tentatively on the door and it opened without resistance.

He looked at the innocent-looking card and smiled before pocketing it
and stepping into a grey corridor lined with nondescript doors, some
of them open. Everything was quiet and smelled of hospital
disinfectant. A glance inside one of the rooms, equipped with an IV
stand and heart monitor, confirmed that he was in some kind of medical
facility.

The cold metal of a gun against his neck froze him into place.

"Drop your weapon."

His heart jumped and skipped a beat, not because of the danger but
because the voice was extremely familiar.

"Scully?"

He heard the sharp click of the gun being cocked and felt the steel
press harder against his skin.

"I said, drop your weapon."

He complied and his Sig clattered on the floor.

The pressure against his neck eased.

"Turn around slowly."

He obeyed and found himself staring at a woman. A woman who talked
with his partner's inflections, a woman whose entire face shouted
Scully at him. Same nose, same lips, same chin, same forehead, same
cheekbones.

But she couldn't possibly be Scully. She was too tall, too blonde, too
young, and the distrustful eyes scanning him were distinctly green.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

He collected himself as you usually do when someone points a gun to
your face and demands answers.

"I'm from the FBI. I came here to look for my partner."

"Show me your badge."

He did as asked and the woman in front of him inspected his ID briefly
before signalling with a sharp movement of her chin that he could put
it away. She lowered her gun slightly but remained on her guard.

"Scully's your partner?"

"Is she here?"

"Yes."

<Bingo.> "Take me to her."

The young woman hesitated. "I'm not sure I'm allowed to do that."

"Listen, there are soldiers upstairs currently ransacking the place.
Whatever orders you might have had don't apply anymore. I'm just
trying to find her before they do."

The young Scully look-alike tilted her head slightly, considering her
options. She finally gestured with her gun towards the corridor.

"This way."

She let him step forward and directed him through a series of doors
and uniformly grey corridors. The place was huge and had been designed
like a maze, probably on purpose.

But he was more preoccupied by the young woman walking behind him than
by the architecture; a woman who seemed yet another living proof that
Scully's genetic material had not been left to waste. A surge of anger
pumped acid into his stomach.

<Bastards.>

They stopped in front of a door which bore the number "6" drawn in
black marker. Faye nodded her head. "In there."

Unconsciously holding his breath, Mulder opened the door.

He took in the small form curled on the bed with her back turned to
him.

"Leave me alone."

He would have recognised that pissed-off alto among thousands. It
really was her this time.

"Someone didn't get any coffee today."

His partner started and turned sharply towards him with wide eyes.

"Mulder!"

He rushed towards her and enveloped her in a fierce hug. He felt her
little hands clutch like claws at his shoulders as she repeated his
name, probably trying to convince herself that she wasn't
hallucinating.

He released her gently and stared at her. She looked sick. Her skin
was stretched like rice paper over her cheekbones and the eyes looking
at him were sunken and feverishly bright.

"God, Scully, what did they do to you?"

She shook her head, unwilling to answer, and squeezed his arm. "How
did you find me?"

"That's a long story, and we don't have time." He stood up and reached
for her shoulders to help her stand up. "Come on, let's get you out of
here."

"Mulder..."

He was already hauling her out of bed, but as her feet touched the
ground he felt her knees buckle and he hurried to tighten his grip
around her.

"...I can't walk."

"What?" He looked horrified.

"It's okay...I was told it was temporary."

"Who told you? The same people who kidnapped you?"

She looked away. "Let's go, Mulder." She gestured with her chin
towards one corner of the room.

His lips thinned in anger, but he didn't say anything. He lifted her
in his arms and carried her over to the wheelchair.

***

Faye was waiting for them outside and when Scully saw her she sharply
turned her head away to stare at the wall.

"What's that abomination doing here?" she hissed.

"Scully!"

The blonde clone looked unfazed and ignored the insult. "They'll be
here any minute now, follow me!" she ordered, and hurried off down the
corridor.

Mulder could hear the muffled sounds of standard-issue military boots
echoing in the distance. He started to push, but Scully blocked the
wheels with both hands.

"Mulder, we're *not* going with her."

He leaned over her, sighing impatiently. "You'd rather deal with Old
Smokey's minions, Scully?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, I would."

"Scully..."

"She's one of them, Mulder, she's one of their creations. How could we
trust her?"

He firmly pried her fingers away from the wheels and folded her hands
over her lap. She looked over her shoulder and glared at him. He
smiled apologetically and started to push the wheelchair.

"Sorry, Scully, but between two evils, I'd rather choose the one who
looks like you."

***

They came out a few miles away from the factory as the sun was
beginning to set.

They had been led to what looked like a dead end, and Mulder had
briefly believed that they had indeed fallen into a trap until their
strange guide had activated some invisible mechanism on the smooth
wall, and a panel had slid open. They made their way through an
endless tunnel leading to a disused sewage system. He had to take
Scully on his back, and leave the wheelchair behind, in order to
follow the thin concrete ledge which ran along the sewers. The feel of
her bare thighs against his ribs was mildly distracting... at least
until the memories of their last sexual encounter surfaced in his mind
like bloated carrion, decaying his budding arousal instantaneously. He
gritted his teeth and concentrated on watching his step.

About an hour later, they collapsed on a patch of grass surrounding
the muddy bank of the exit.

"Scully, you OK?"

His partner was lying on her back hiding her eyes from the light with
one arm thrown over her eyes. "Too bright."

He stroked her arm. "We'll get you some cool shades, partner."

She nodded weakly and curled up on her side, burying her face in the
crook of her arm.

He turned towards their guide, who was sitting a few feet away using
her discarded lab coat to wipe her face, wearing a somewhat disgusted
frown. She looked so much like Scully it was unsettling.

She caught him watching her and raised an achingly familiar eyebrow.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Faye."

A hundred questions burned his lips, but he thought better of it.
Scully was clearly upset by the woman's presence, and he didn't want
to aggravate the situation by demanding answers his partner was
probably not ready to hear. Queries about Faye's background would have
to wait.

"Do you know where we are?"

The woman gave him the details of their location and he drew his cell
phone to call the Gunmen, keeping one eye on Scully's motionless form
meanwhile.

When he was done, he focused on Faye again and gestured towards his
partner who seemed to have fallen asleep.

"What happened to her?"

"She was treated. She needs to rest."

"Treated? Against what?"

"The Colonists were gradually interfering with her thought processes.
The connection with them needed to be severed."

"You're telling me she was kidnapped to be cured?"

"Yes."

"Is any of this related to her previous abduction?"

"No. This research unit didn't exist then."

"So why choose her?"

"Subjects like her are not widely available."

He bristled slightly at the woman's choice of words. "I had guessed
altruism wasn't your main concern."

"No, it wasn't."

There was none of his partner's warmth in the woman's voice.
<Well, she might be Scully's spitting image, but that's all she is.>

He threw a quick glance at his curled-up partner.

"So...is she cured?"

"She seems to be. Although it's likely she'll remain emotionally
unstable for a while. You might want to keep an eye on her."

He winced. "She's gonna love it."

Faye shrugged.

He stopped his train of thoughts - which involved a ballistic Scully
biting his head off for hovering - and fixed on the young woman again.

"Who are you working for?"

"I'm not working *for* anybody, Agent Mulder, I work *against* the
Colonists and the men who support them," she replied vehemently.

He was about to ask her the reasons behind this choice when he heard
his name being called. Raising his head he saw Frohike waving at him
from the top of the small slope rising behind them, above the gaping
mouth of the sewer pipe.

"Here's the cavalry."

He waved back and leaned over his partner who looked dead to the world
and brushed his index finger lightly over her cheek.

"Hey, Scully?"

The small agent didn't react. He raised his head towards Faye with a
concerned frown.

"It's all right, their sleep is close to coma the first few days. Let
her, she needs it."

He nodded and lifted his unconscious partner in his arms before
following Faye up the steep and crumbly slope.

***

"Holy mother of God!"

The three Gunmen were standing in front of the van, frozen into place,
gaping at Faye. Frohike looked as if he'd just been presented with the
World's Eighth Wonder.

Mulder brushed past the young woman who looked rather uncomfortable at
being suddenly the centre of attention. "Don't mind them, they're
harmless."

He stepped forward with Scully in his arms.

"Guys, this is Faye. You can lift your jaws off the tarmac now."

The three men shuffled and coughed, muttering barely understandable
greetings. Byers managed to pry his eyes from her long enough to catch
Mulder's.

"Is she..."

"Don't ask."

The agent climbed into the van and gently laid his partner on one of
the back seats. Frohike climbed after him, while Byers returned to the
driver's seat, shortly followed by Langly who busied himself with the
maps bunched inside the glove compartment.

Frohike watched Mulder rummage in his bag, looking for clothes which
could fit Scully.